Falling like dominoes
by otherhawk
Summary: AU. Imagine you have a best friend. Someone that you care about more than life itself. What would you do for him? How about four years, medium security? Rusty goes to jail in Danny's place. Beginning from four years before O11 and continuing. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Usual disclaimer applies, I don't own anything from O11 world**

**This entire story is most definitely for InSilva, who has, intelligently, diplomatically and brilliantly, dealt with a lot of my worries and plot problems with this one. Though I doubt she'll thank me for it when she reads it.**

**Rated, incidentally, for violence and profanity.**

* * *

It wasn't a number he recognised. That was the first thing that got his attention. Though, to be honest, he was bored out of his mind and by that point just about anything different would have interested him. Danny wanted to stay in the city. Close to home. Close to Tess. And Rusty understood that completely, and wasn't in the slightest bit annoyed – but after just three months, they'd both agreed that Rusty possibly wasn't capable of staying in one place for that long, and so for the first time in well over a decade, he'd started pulling solo jobs. Small stuff, mostly, but around the country. Hell, he'd even wandered over the Atlantic once or twice. Always returning to New York, whenever he got too bored or whenever Danny called to say 'I've got a great idea'.

_(Because they both meant 'I miss you'.)_

And he'd been away for nearly six weeks this time, in London, hanging out with Basher and nearly making several irreplaceable national treasures go 'boom'. Now his restlessness had pretty much died down, and he was thinking about heading home, though he'd been eyeing the Tate yesterday and thinking a number of interesting thoughts. So, maybe a few more weeks, if Basher was amenable.

And then, the phone call. From a number he didn't recognise.

"Yeah?" he answered it, cautiously.

"Rusty? It's Tess." She'd been crying; he could tell immediately, and his heart froze in his chest.

"Tess? What's wrong?" he asked, and his voice didn't tremble in the slightest.

"Danny's a thief." And that was unexpected. And almost a relief. "Danny's a thief, and so are you." He kept silent. Let her do the talking. "I read something I shouldn't have, and you know, I don't even know why I didn't put it together before. But I have now and I left him. I left him, and now I don't know what to do."

Rusty caught the first flight back.

* * *

Danny studied the plans in his hand and tried to pretend to himself that he was giving them the same attention that he always would. He told himself that he was accounting for everything. That the details would sort themselves out. And he told himself that he was telling himself that he was just being paranoid when it felt like he was being watched.

He looked at the phone, and thought about calling Tess. And he thought about calling Rusty.

But Tess had hurt him, and he wanted to show that he wasn't going to change who he was just because she laid down an ultimatum. He'd pull this off. That would show her.

_(But there's one sure way to hurt the one who loves you. And that's to hurt yourself.) _

* * *

Danny didn't seem in the slightest bit surprised to see him. But then, he never did.

They talked over a pizza; Danny gave him the sordid details. The yelling. The accusations. And the ultimatum. Her or the job. And Danny never gave in to that sort of pressure, even when it was killing him. Even when, maybe, he wanted to.

"So what are you going to do now?" Rusty asked.

"Nothing. She'll come round. And in the meantime, I'm going to keep my nose clean."

"Uh huh." Casually his eyes travelled to the pile of plans he'd spotted the moment he came in.

Equally casually, Danny put the empty pizza box on top of them. "Want to catch a movie?"

* * *

They met at a Chinese restaurant. Tess' idea; she wanted somewhere anonymous. Neutral. And she didn't want Rusty at Jillian's house, not least because she couldn't help but remember her wedding, and the way that Jillian had been quite so insistent that it was her duty as matron of honour to sleep with the best man. Not that she'd got anywhere.

Of course, she should have realised that Rusty would try to eat everything on the menu.

"I think he's planning something." she said abruptly, once the waiter finally got a chance to clear the plates, and Rusty signed the check, and she just about managed to resist the temptation to see whose name he was signing. "Something reckless."

Rusty hadn't looked in the slightest bit surprised. He'd nodded and given his full attention to eating his fortune cookie.

Tess couldn't help but feel a little rejected. "If he goes to jail I'm not taking him back." she snapped.

At that, Rusty did look up and, after licking the last of the crumbs from his fingertips, asked "Otherwise you're going to?"

"I don't know." She looked away, pulling at the wrapper of her own cookie. "I still love him."

"I know." Rusty said gently. "So does he."

"But he lied to me." she said, desperately. "Can't you tell him – "

" – I'm not carrying messages between you, Tess." Rusty's voice was hard. "If you want to talk to him, pick up the phone."

"And what'll you tell him if he asks about this?"

Rusty shrugged. "The truth. I can't lie to him. He always knows."

She hesitated. "Does he know when I lie to him?"

He looked at her, and she remembered that however much they might understand each other, Rusty had never been _her_ friend. "I don't know. What lies have you told him?"

Flushing, she clenched her fist around the cookie. "Well, when you tell him all about this cosy little chat, tell him if he walks away, I'll take him back."

Apparently he found that amusing. She threw the cookie at him. "Here. Wouldn't want you to get hungry, would we?" Not the best exit line she'd ever thought of, but he didn't say anything as she swept off.

Carefully Rusty unwrapped the remains of the cookie and picked out the message inside. He traced his finger along the Chinese characters and smiled humourlessly to himself.

'_He does love you. But in the end that will not be enough.' _

* * *

He put together the best disguises he ever had. Kept a far greater distance than he normally would. And he was able to follow Danny without Danny ever noticing. Fuck. If nothing else that told him that Danny was doing worse than even he knew. Incan Matrimonial Headmasks? What _was_ that?

But as much as part of him wished Danny would turn round, sense his presence like usual, he was glad when it didn't happen. Because it gave him the museum basement. It gave him the second entrance. And it gave him the fence, who talked so eagerly to the _other_ man following Danny.

Rusty had spotted Danny's second shadow within twenty minutes. The guy was _good_, but he wasn't looking for Rusty, and it was easy enough to lift and return his wallet.

Agent Harry Carson, FBI.

Fuck.

* * *

They sat on the sofa, drinking wine and watching old movies, like they had a thousand times before in a thousand different places. And they were both a little drunk, or at least Danny thought they both were.

"I'd give anything to get her back." he said as Humphrey Bogart kissed Ingrid Bergman one last time.

He should have been paying more attention.

* * *

Breaking into FBI offices wasn't exactly a new experience for Rusty, but to be honest, it never got old. Fastidiously he flipped through files and photographs, noted names and dates. Realised that Carson had an interesting habit of not recovering the money. Or at least not for the rightful owners. Corruption in the Bureau, who'd have thought?

He realised almost immediately that it was all far too late. They already had too much. There was nothing he could do; someone was going down for this.

And even as he heard the door click open, even as he heard a voice say 'Freeze!' he was smiling. Because he could see the pattern. He could see the chain of consequences falling forwards like dominos, one after another after another. And he wasn't afraid.

"Agent Carson?" he turned round slowly, still smiling. "How would you like to make a deal?"

* * *

There was a tiny part of Tess that would have liked to get a little more reaction from Rusty at being invited into her bedroom. Even if it was just a hotel room she'd moved into when she couldn't take any more of Jillian's squabbling children.

But he looked perfectly comfortable, sat on her sofa, even if his gaze did keep travelling to the waste paper bin.

"You were right." Rusty said, suddenly. "He is planning something. And it's not going to work."

She blinked. "Well, stop him."

"I've tried. He won't listen to me." Rusty paused. "He doesn't want it to work."

The suggestion in his voice was obvious. "I'm not going to be the first to climb down."

"Tess." Rusty said quietly. "Someone is going to prison for this."

She paused and glanced over to the waste paper bin. He followed her gaze. "I can't see my husband go to jail."

Rusty smiled. Suddenly. Brilliantly. "You won't." he promised, and she believed him.

Later, she took the empty wrapper from the pregnancy test out of the bin, and threw it down the garbage chute and told herself again and again that if he'd only asked, she would have told him that it was negative. It got less convincing with each repetition.

* * *

He stood outside the second entrance as the sirens got nearer and considered that it was just a little bit harder to be caught in the act than he would have imagined. Certainly Carson seemed to be taking his sweet time. Though he'd seen Danny run, as soon as he'd heard the fire alarm Rusty had activated to go with the silent alarm that Danny had tripped. (And honestly, hadn't he even glanced at the plans? Wanting to be caught was one thing, being sloppy was something else.) That was the main thing, anyway. Danny would be safe.

And the five million dollars that Rusty had made sure that Carson would 'recover' would make sure that the man wasn't looking for anyone else. That was the deal they'd made, even if Carson didn't understand it yet. Okay, so he hadn't actually had five million dollars, embarrassingly enough. But somehow, out of everything he'd done in the last few weeks, Rusty doubted that Danny would kick up a fuss about a couple of million taken from his bank account.

As the cars screeched up and the headlights picked him out, Rusty hoisted the bag containing the head masks and made a run for it. He got all of twenty feet before they tackled him to the ground and he tasted concrete.

And as he was twisted round, as the flashlight was shone in his face, as he blinked and saw Carson's look of absolute bewilderment – because he was never who the Agent had expected to see here, after all who made a deal to set themselves up? – he felt a fierce kind of joy swell up inside him.

* * *

It was the next day before he heard. Unsurprisingly, whoever Rusty had used his phone call on, it hadn't been him.

His first thought was to rush down to the police station. Confess everything. Tell them that Rusty was – for once – completely innocent. But the moment he stepped outside, two men bundled him into a car – gently – and explained – kindly – that he had an alibi. An airtight alibi. And that Rusty had been caught red-handed, and had made a full confession.

Of course, he could still go to the police. But they wouldn't believe him. Rusty had thought of everything, and Danny cursed him. The men apologised very nicely for the inconvenience and let him out.

And he wondered; if he'd been trying to punish Tess by getting caught, what was Rusty punishing him for?

* * *

The first night that Rusty spent in prison, on remand, he realised that it was likely that this would destroy him more completely than any simple death.

He still didn't regret it.

* * *

The room was blank and empty, apart from the table, two chairs and them. The money that Danny had paid to have the guards sent away and the security tapes erased would be enough to put several people's kids through college.

Rusty leaned back in his chair and looked straight at him, open and unconcerned and Danny had never felt so angry. The jumpsuit was bad enough. The handcuffs were an obscenity. And the fact that Rusty was smiling was just rubbing salt on fresh wounds.

"Take it back." Danny said, voice low.

Rusty sighed. "Danny. It's done." His voice was patient, like they'd had this conversation a million times before. Which they probably had. He just hadn't been there for any of the previous times.

He swallowed, but didn't look away. "Take it back." he begged. "Take it all back. Tell them you lied."

"No." Rusty smiled again. Relaxed rather than resigned and Danny couldn't help but hate him. "Not going to happen."

And he knew that it wasn't. One card left to play. No bluffs left. "You do this and we're through, you and me. We're done. I won't be waiting when you get out."

For a long moment Rusty looked down at the table and Danny held his breath. Then Rusty looked up and met his eyes. "Then I guess we're done." And there was the resignation, and Danny realised that he'd seen this coming. He'd planned for this, just as he'd seen every other damned detail.

"Fuck you." he spat, and leapt out of his chair and banged on the door to be let out.

Later when he dreamt of that day – and he often, often dreamt of that day – he remembered hearing Rusty whisper an unfamiliar 'Goodbye' behind him. And he'd never be sure whether or not that had really happened.

* * *

Tess came back to him the day after the trial ended. Danny hadn't gone. Saul had, still bitter about the fact that Rusty wouldn't see him, still angry about the fact that Danny wouldn't tell him what had happened, but completely incapable of abandoning either of them. Danny listened desperately to every scrap of news, and pretended that he wasn't. When he heard the sentence, he threw Saul out of the house and spent the rest of the night huddled on the sofa, staring dry-eyed into space.

But Tess came back. She forgave him and she cried. Danny didn't.

And she asked him again to make a choice. To give up the job. For her.

And Danny said yes.

* * *

Two years passed. Danny had a job in insurance and made employee of the month eight months out of twelve. He could sell anything to anyone and his smile was in his voice and his mouth, it never reached his eyes.

His co-workers liked him well enough, when they happened to think of him. He made sure that wasn't often. Tess often said that he wasn't the man she'd married.

_(He wasn't.)_

He didn't think about the past anymore.

* * *

Rusty didn't talk much anymore and couldn't really remember a time when he had.

He tried to stay out of everyone's way. Tried to stay unnoticed. Spent too much time staring at the locks and the bars, and the walls.

He was nearly always hungry.

_(No-one sent cookies.)_

He didn't think about the past anymore.

* * *

Tess left. It didn't come as a surprise. After a few weeks of brooding he quit his job and went back to work.

Everyone was pleased to see him again, and when he was planning a job, when he was riding that buzz, it was almost like old times and he could sometimes forget, for a little while.

After the first couple of slip-ups, people learnt not to mention _his_ name when Danny was around. And it only took one mistake for the news to travel that asking what had happened between them three years ago was a near fatal transgression.

Still, with or without _him_, Danny was counted among the best. And when Bobby Caldwell's kid begged him for what he described as an internship deal, Danny said 'yes' with Bobby's full approval.

And so suddenly he had an apprentice, or a trainee or a protégé or a whatever. But not a partner. Never that.

* * *

Linus thought that Danny Ocean was the most amazing person he'd ever met. But there was so much that he just didn't understand about the man.

Back before the very first job that they'd pulled together, his mom, his dad and Saul Bloom had each, separately, grabbed him and warned him in the strongest possible terms not to ever mention Danny's old partner. And none of them had been amused when he'd pointed out that since he didn't even know the man's name, that wouldn't be difficult. He had no idea what the story was there, some old double-cross, he guessed.

And if Danny seemed sad or distracted sometimes, he had no trouble putting that down to the divorce and making allowances. Even if sometimes he wondered if it was really something else.

"You ever loved someone, Linus?" Danny had asked, in a deserted bar, after they'd both had a few more drinks than usual, to celebrate the successful parting of William Foxx from his fortune. "Really loved them, I mean. Like, loved everything about them, die for them in a heartbeat, world's brighter when they smile at you, finish each others sentences kind of love?"

He'd shook his head silently.

"It's amazing. And terrible." There was a strange sort of light in Danny's eyes and it seemed as if he was desperate to say something else. But he hadn't.

There'd been an uncomfortable silence. "You must miss her very much." Linus ventured at last.

Danny had looked blank. "Who?"

"Your wife?" Linus suggested, hesitantly.

"Oh. Tess. Yeah. Yeah, I do." But the animation had gone out of his voice and the light had faded.

Working with Danny was the most amazing thing Linus had ever known. It was always fun, it was always different and exciting, he was learning all the things he'd ever wanted to, meeting all the people. But he knew, on some level, that he wasn't what Danny wanted. Or needed. He was being held up to some impossible standard, and he was always, always going to come up short.

* * *

The blood tasted metallic in his mouth. He'd long since lost track of the boots kicking him. Instead he was concentrating on holding tightly onto the floor, because he couldn't help but worry that if he let go, even for a second, he was somehow going to fall off.

Possibly getting between them and Small Jimmy in the showers had been a mistake. But someone had to do something. Not that it mattered now. Because he had.

And he'd known then that they were going to hurt him.

And he knew it wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

And he knew he didn't care nearly as much as he should.

There was no-one waiting for him.

* * *

**This was simply the prologue. The rest of the story will not be in this style, and will commence from roughly the same point as the movie. Except, obviously, significantly differently.**

**Anyway, I honestly have no idea what people are going to think of this. I can only hope that you like it.**


	2. Chapter 1

**So, this is a prompt update for me. It's also a short chapter.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed.**

**Oh, and in case anyone was wondering the AU point of this story - the moment when it deviates from canon - is when Tess decides to do what everyone else does in times of crisis and calls Rusty. **

* * *

Rusty walked into the casino in Atlantic City and tried to remember just what it had been like to feel as though he fitted in anywhere.

Oh, no-one was staring at him. Hell, no-one was even looking at him; which was just as it should be. Just as he wanted it. Even if he wasn't necessarily looking his best, his new clothes were expensive. Tasteful. Discreet. Not what he used to wear. But he still felt as though he was wearing dirty prison overalls underneath and more than anything he wanted to take another shower. At least these clothes fitted though. He remembered the look of pity on the guard's face that morning, as he'd been changing back into his own clothes, when he'd had to ask for a safety pin to keep his pants up. Four years. Thirty pounds. And people thought the Atkins diet was effective.

He didn't want to be here. There were too many people, too many lights, too much noise. He wasn't totally certain where he did want to be, but he had a feeling that it involved curling up underneath a pile of blankets and pretending that there was no world outside his bed. But the small part of his mind given over to self preservation had demanded that he go and talk to someone as soon as he got out. Else he was making different plans, that he didn't want to think about too hard. Besides he had to know. Even though it would hurt - even though he'd just spent four years trying not to think about it, trying to tell himself that it wasn't his business anymore, that he'd forfeited the right to worry - he had to know how Danny was doing. And Frank had seemed the best option. Close enough that he'd know, and Rusty wouldn't have to ask but not so close that he'd make any kind of demands, or ask any kind of questions that Rusty couldn't deal with. And he would care, too. That small part of his mind had seemed to think that was important.

Frank spotted him the minute he walked in; he could tell. And when he slid into a seat at the Blackjack table, Frank was there, displacing the other dealer before she'd even had time to lay out a hand.

Rusty smiled and read off the nametag. "Hi, Ramone."

"Good evening, sir." Frank said, with the smallest smile of acknowledgement, dealing the cards.

Rusty let three hands go by in silence. Giving Frank the opportunity to study him and draw his own conclusions. And watching Frank frown was only a little bit painful.

"Are you going to be in town long?" Frank asked with a casualness that Rusty felt like applauding.

"Little while, I think. Want to make the most of the fine dining experience." He smiled reassuringly.

"Have you tried Morton's Steakhouse? Best food in the state, you get there after ten." That wasn't one of Frank's more subtle efforts.

But Rusty nodded and smiled and put more money down.

Frank dealt a couple more hands, looking steadily more uncomfortable, before he leaned forwards and hissed "Jesus, Rus'. Stop it, will you?"

For a second Rusty just didn't get it. Then he realised that the count was at fifteen. And he realised that he shouldn't have known that. Fuck. Card counting here? With Frank? He had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

"Sorry." he muttered, as he fumbled his chips to cover the apology. "Morton's, huh? I'll give it a try."

The weight of Frank's concern was crushing as he walked off.

* * *

He was sitting, picking at a bread roll, when Frank sat down opposite him.

"Hi, Frank." he smiled.

Frank grinned back. "Rusty. You look like – "

" - Hell in a nice suit. I know." He did.

"Wasn't going to put it quite like that." Frank said, uncomfortably. "But you've lost weight."

"Prison food, man, what can I say?" He leaned back and concentrated on looking relaxed, and when the waiter came by he ordered a rib eye steak.

Frank ordered the same and looked at him and sighed. "I saw him yesterday." he admitted. "It's odd to see you both so soon. Like the old days.

His breath caught in his throat and he licked his suddenly far too dry lips. But he didn't ask.

Sighing again, Frank told him anyway. "He looked good. Happy. He's planning something in Vegas, something big. I'm going down there tomorrow."

Rusty nodded. It was good to hear that Danny was working. He was never really alive except when he was working.

"Suppose you heard . . . no, you wouldn't have, would you? He went straight for over three years. Only got back in the game a year ago. He quit after . . . well. He quit after."

"Because of Tess." His voice was steady. His hand wasn't shaking. And he didn't want to see Danny.

"That too, I suppose." Frank frowned. "Certainly he started working again after she left him."

"She left him?" Rusty asked involuntarily. He'd been hoping . . .

"Yeah." Frank shrugged. "She did."

"Anything else I should know there?" he asked, casually. Because he doubted it, but you just never knew.

Frank raised his eyebrows. "Like what?"

"I don't know," He hesitated. "Any kids?"

"Right." Frank laughed. "Danny with a kid?"

Yeah. He hadn't been able to imagine it either. And after all, she hadn't lied to him exactly. But he suddenly felt so damned old.

The waiter brought their food over and Rusty had to force himself to eat at even a halfway reasonable pace. Even then he finished long before Frank. Neither man made any attempt to talk while they ate, and Rusty caught the same concerned look on Frank's face.

Afterwards, Frank cleared his throat. "He's with someone else, now."

That was good. If he was dating, maybe the second time around the break up hadn't been so rough. "She cute?"

"No," Frank looked uncomfortable. "I mean he's working with someone else."

And that was good too. It was. "He never did like working on his own. Anyone I know?"

"Bobby Caldwell's boy." Frank kept his eyes fixed on Rusty's face. Like he hadn't had plenty of opportunity to practice his poker face in prison.

"Linus." Rusty supplied the name. He'd never met him; hell the kid had probably still been in college when he went inside. "Any good?"

Frank looked pointedly non-committal.

"Frank." Rusty sighed. "I just want to know if he's got someone watching his back. I'm not going to go off on some jealous tantrum."

Frank laughed slightly, like the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "Yeah. He's good. He's not you, but he's good."

He half grinned. "There are plenty of people who aren't me who are – "

" – not for Danny." Frank interrupted. Rusty said nothing. Frank watched him carefully. "Why don't you call him?"

"No!" Rusty said, just a little too quickly, and Frank looked shocked. But Danny hadn't been bluffing when he'd declared them through, and Danny never backed down and Rusty thought that if Danny hung up on him, it was more than likely that whatever little shreds of personality were holding his soul together would completely unravel.

"Okay, I wasn't going to ask, but what the hell happened between you two?" Frank demanded.

"What does Danny say happened?" Rusty asked, carefully. He knew that Danny wouldn't be telling the truth and he didn't want to cause any difficulties.

"Oh, for . . ." Frank shook his head in frustration. "Danny won't talk about it. Ever. Doesn't even mention your name."

Apparently his poker face wasn't quite all it had been. Frank looked like he wished that he'd never opened his mouth in his life. "Rusty, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He paused for a long moment. "I fucked up. I screwed him over. And I got what I was asking for." His words had the ring of truth to them. Because they were true. Well, for a given value of 'true', anyway.

Frank watched him for a very long time. Then he offered him the dessert menu.

"You said you're going to be in town for a while?" Frank asked, casually, as Rusty tried to decide between the cheesecake and the ice-cream sundae.

"Yeah. Got no plans. Well, other than just hanging out and living on room service. Try to get caught up on all the movies I've missed."

Frank nodded and his voice was deceptively casual. "I'm going to be heading down to Vegas, like I said. You mind if I stay in touch?"

"Sure. Just," he hesitated. "Don't tell anyone else, will you?" He didn't want to elaborate. But he wasn't quite ready.

"I can do that." He hated the sympathy in Frank's voice. "Where'll you be?"

He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "The Borgata." he decided, fairly randomly. One luxury hotel was as good as another, after all. "Ask for Andrew Dufresne. And I'll leave a forwarding number if I happen to move on before you call." Though he got the impression that was unlikely. Apparently Frank had decided he needed help.

"Okay." Frank paused, meaningfully.

"What?" he asked, irritated.

"You need to talk to Saul. Soon."

Rusty blinked and remembered the times that he'd stopped Saul from visiting him, before his trial and afterwards. "He can't possibly still be mad about that."

Frank just looked at him.

"He's still mad about that." Rusty concluded.

"Hell, yes." Frank agreed.

They ate their desserts, and talked about old times and laughed. And by the time Rusty had to leave to go and phone his parole officer, he still had no idea whether Frank had really seen how broken he was.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think. **


	3. Chapter 2

Dispirited, Danny looked at the floor plans to the MGM Grand spread all over the table. It was a good plan, really. He couldn't deny it. Every dollar spent in the casino in one night, theirs for the taking. It was elegant, it was easy, it pleased Reuben . . .

It was small time. In conception if not in scale. So, no-one had knocked over a Las Vegas casino. Danny had wanted to hit three. The moment Reuben had asked him about Benedict, he'd thought about the Belagio, the Mirage and the MGM Grand and for a while he'd thought he could do it. He could see the shape of the plan, but he couldn't find a way to make it work. Maybe there wasn't one.

Except there was. Would have been.

Linus had quietly suggested that maybe Danny was just being too ambitious, and they'd figured out this plan instead. The elevator at the MGM Grand, the second shaft, the fifteen second camera delay – it would work. It would work, they'd all be richer, and this was a good crew, so really he had nothing to complain about.

And Reuben was pleased. That should be the main thing. Benedict would be humiliated, which was the point of the exercise. One too many snide remarks at one too many public events, one too many non-coincidental financial losses, and over drinks at the Flamingo Reuben had suggested to Danny that Benedict made the perfect mark. Linus, the reason they'd been there in the first place (because he was trying to do right by the kid, and that meant introducing him to people who would never, ever let him down) well, he'd taken a lot more convincing. He'd done his homework enough to know that Benedict tended to play for keeps. Personally, Danny didn't know what he was worried about. Neither of them _had_ a brother-in-law with a tractor dealership.

Later, much later, after they'd spent three weeks thinking things over, searching for a way, trying to see what was there; later with an air of innocent curiosity, Reuben asked Danny if he missed _him_.

And Danny told the truth.

He said no.

Frank had been the first name on Danny's list. When an inside man was needed for a casino, Frank was always at the top of the list. And Danny liked working with him. A year ago, when he'd come back into the world, Frank had been one of the first people he'd gone to see. And he hadn't asked any of the difficult questions. He'd probably never know how much Danny appreciated that.

So, Frank had come down with a bad case of bronchitis and Danny had expected him to come rolling into Vegas, grinning from ear to ear. But he hadn't. Oh, he'd shown up, right on time, got straight to work. Except he'd barely meet Danny's eyes, and there was something in his voice . . . Something had happened. There was something on the man's mind, and Danny couldn't even begin to imagine what it was.

The Malloys had been another easy pick. He and Linus had worked with them barely a month before, in Los Angeles actually. Industrial espionage, more or less. It had been slick, it had been fast, it had been fun, and it hadn't reminded him of anything at all. When he'd suggested them to Linus this time, the kid had agreed immediately and then started muttering about buying ear plugs.

Livingston had been a harder call to make. Really, he was the only choice. There was no-one better, even though Linus, sensing his reluctance, had offered another half dozen names. None of them could do what Livingston could do. He'd told Linus that it was the man's nerves that had him worried, and Linus had swallowed that story happily, especially after meeting him. But it was a lie.

Because nine months ago he'd stood on a balcony with an incredibly drunk Livingston. And he hadn't asked Danny what had happened four years ago. He'd asked why Danny hadn't saved him. He'd asked how Danny could have left him to get caught. And Danny could never tell the truth, and he couldn't bring himself to lie, so he'd said nothing. And Livingston had just looked at him and shook his head.

At least he didn't seem to remember that night. Danny was pretty sure he wouldn't have taken his call if he remembered. But Danny did.

The only remotely difficult thing about recruiting Basher had been keeping him out of jail. And Linus had handled that with a sort of cool, professional confidence that had left Danny smiling. What's more, Basher had seemed genuinely pleased to see him, and even when he'd said that it would be just like old times, somehow Danny's smile hadn't slipped. Because if Livingston would always make him think of his guilt, maybe Basher could make him think of better times.

Finding a good grease man had been really difficult. Maybe it was a dying art. It had taken four days of frustration and phone calls before Linus had finally stepped forwards and said that, actually, he might have heard of someone who fitted the bill almost perfectly. And it had taken another half hour before it emerged that the problem that Linus saw was that the guy didn't speak English. Understood it, yes, spoke it, no. But whether Linus trusted his own judgement or not, Danny did, and after another twenty minutes Danny had got the name and the agreement that they'd at least go and see the Amazing Yen perform.

Yen had said he was in almost immediately. He'd said several other things too. Danny wished he had a translator.

The last had been Saul. And he'd agreed immediately. Danny just wished it was because of the job.

Saul had been talking about retiring for the past year. In fact, though Danny wasn't supposed to know, he'd been planning on doing it for real, shortly before Tess left and Danny got back in the game. And Danny knew damned well that Saul wanted to wait and see that he was all right. He suspected that there was something – someone - else that Saul was waiting for as well. But he sure as shit wasn't going to ask. Still, whatever the reasons Saul was in. And, counting him, Linus and Reuben, that made ten.

Ten of them. That ought to do it.

Of course it would do it. This plan wasn't exactly complicated. It would be fine. It _was_ fine. It was just – boring.

There was a time when everything was easy, when 'impossible' was just a word to be laughed at, when five minutes thought and a Hershey bar were enough to get out of nearly any trouble. There was a time when he'd been so much better than this, when his plans had soared and no-one had even needed to ask if he was all right. There was a time when . . .

_We played the game like we had nothing to lose._

He swallowed hard and told himself that the voice and words that rose unbidden in his mind were his own.

Some things you never knew you could lose.

But this plan would work. Basher assured him that causing the right kind of elevator accident would be 'Easy as.' Linus and the Malloys were proving to be masterly at providing distractions for every conceivable occasion. Livingston was studying the system, and was apparently nearly ready to go in and get them a backdoor – as long as Danny stopped rushing him, anyway. And Saul had been practicing his Lyman Zerga voice for the past four days, so that was Yen's way in just about sorted. Everything was going smoothly and Danny was bored out of his mind.

He traced along the lines of the air duct on the schematics and thought about how bad it was going to be on the day. Stuck inside there for at least six hours.

Like during the Ashworth job in Vancouver, when an emergency board meeting had been convened right beneath them, leaving them stuck there until the men in suits talked themselves out. That had taken eight agonising hours. There'd been some childish argument. He'd sung eighteen choruses of 'I am Henry the eighth I am' in a whisper before a truce had been called. And then, when the men in suits had sent out for sandwiches. Well. Things had nearly got very nasty indeed.

And when they'd finally got back, the look that Saul had given them. Three parts concern, two parts frustration, one part anger, one part fading terror. Same look Danny seemed to see all the time now. But they'd – he'd – laughed and taken no notice because he was young and immortal and invulnerable and the world was a place of infinite wonder.

He shoved the plans away in frustration. "Do you want – " he started to ask and then stopped. He was in an empty room. He was alone. And the man he was talking to was long gone.

Burying his face in his hands, he breathed deeply for a few long moments. Four years. Shouldn't he have stopped thinking about him? Out of sight, out of mind, surely. Please. Anything else was crazy, wasn't it?

He sighed. Crazy was standing in the middle of a convenience store in the middle of the night, buying candy that he was never, never going to eat. Crazy was watching old movies alone, late at night and automatically pouring two glasses of wine. Crazy was playing a game of poker and giving the same imperceptible signals as always, with no-one there to read them. Crazy was forgetting that _he wasn't there_ and never would be again.

Or maybe it was wanting him to be.

Which he didn't.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I know that this is moving slowly, but I'm trying to set the scene. It'll pick up next chapter.**

**And, I have to admit, it really does help if you let me know what you think. Please. **


	4. Chapter 3

Frank said his goodbyes and left the employee lounge hastily and with a cautious glance around. Thankfully he didn't seem to have a tail today.

They'd all noticed that they were being watched over the past two days. Wasn't exactly like the guy was falling over himself to hide it. And in Frank's mind when people started watching _you_ that was the time to start thinking about up and quitting. Except this guy wasn't working for Benedict.

But the guy was always there, always watching them – especially Danny. Once or twice, out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen him staring at Danny with this strange little smile on his face. Frank didn't like it. Not one bit.

Still, no-one was talking about walking. Not quite yet. Instead they were watching the guy while he was watching them. No-one recognised him so the next step was finding out just who he was. Law enforcement, that much was obvious but you didn't last long in this business without developing a nose for things. Guy wasn't official. Which made it interesting.

Was a time, of course, when Danny would immediately have come up with some brilliant, impossible way to fold the interloper into their plans. To use him, make him a patsy without him ever seeing that he'd been taken. And there was a time when Rusty would have grinned and made it happen. So very long ago.

And maybe that's what was really bothering him. He hadn't particularly wanted to leave Rusty like he had. They'd been friends for a long time, he knew that Rusty was hurting and he wished that his friend had wanted something more from him than an hour's conversation and a steak. And mostly they'd talked about Danny, and Frank couldn't quite figure if his reluctance to ask how Rusty was came from knowing that Rusty didn't want to talk about it or knowing that _he_ didn't. When he'd called Rusty from Vegas, Rusty had sounded tired and cheerful and had been unwilling to talk about anything other than how brilliant 'Oh Brother, Where Art Thou' was. And Frank had hated that movie. He was sure it was all an act, but he couldn't know how much of one. He told himself that if he was only standing in front of Rusty, he'd know.

Frank had been in prison. He knew what it was like. And he knew what Rusty was like.

He'd been inside for a two month stretch for getting caught. Easy time, everyone said, but the greyness of the place, the inescapable routine, the exhausting closeness – every single day lasted forever. And constantly having to do as he was told. It chafed at him like nothing else ever had. Two months and afterwards the sunlight on his face had been one of the best experiences of his life. He couldn't imagine four years. Not for Rusty.

When he arrived upstairs there was a note lying on the bedside table that hadn't been there when he left. Since the only key was in his pocket that might have struck him as odd, if he didn't keep the company he did.

'Meeting in Danny's suite tonight. Don't be late.'

Frank groaned and cursed Linus' name, glancing longingly at the bed. His shift had been particularly bad tonight. Drunk frat boy just wouldn't accept that Ten and Eight and Four didn't make twenty one, not matter which way you counted. In the end security had needed to explain it, and didn't that just serve the idiot right?

Still, his real job always came first so he headed downstairs. Everyone else was already there, chatting and fidgeting. Relaxed despite the tension, in a way that told him they'd probably been there for a long time. Livingston and Basher had even brought a couple of gadgets that he didn't want to ask about. Not least because on the last two jobs when he'd asked either what they were doing, something had exploded. Best not to get involved.

"Frank, good, now we can start." Danny was smiling and looking relaxed. No tell in evidence, but judging by the tension in the room things were bad.

"What's going on?" he asked, sinking into a sofa with a sigh, and forcing Turk to shift up and start a brief but furious squabble with Virgil over space, which only ended when Yen moved to sit cross legged on the sofa back.

"We're snafued." Basher answered him, laconically.

"Well, we've hit a snag." Linus was more diplomatic. "Basically they've gone and changed the ID protocols for contractors."

Frank got it at once. The elevator. The repairmen – Basher and the twins' way in. "Shit." he said, with feeling. Everyone nodded their agreement.

"I was wondering if you could get access to the system." Danny suggested, without any real hope in his voice.

"Not a chance." he answered immediately.

Danny nodded unsurprised.

"And we can't get fakes if we don't know what the originals look like." Linus said and sighed.

Turk frowned. "Couldn't we just put it off for a while?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and then everything else would be out of date."

"Well we could replace –"

" – you're an idiot."

Frank tuned out the twins bickering. By this time it took no great effort.

"What are we going to do?" Linus asked Danny expectantly. Frank had noticed that Linus seemed to think that Danny would always know all the answers. Eventually, anyway. Well, he was young. Hero worship was something everyone grew out of.

Danny rubbed at the corner of his mouth and said nothing.

Reuben leaned forwards. "How about if we . . . " he paused, apparently confused. "No. Forget that."

"I wish Rusty was here." Livingston said suddenly.

There was a startled silence. It was only broken by Linus leaning over and asking Basher who Rusty was. Basher immediately shushed him. Yen looked similarly confused and Frank found himself thinking of the look that flitted across Rusty's face when he'd said that Danny never mentioned him and wondered how it was that they could pretend that Rusty had never existed so successfully that Danny's goddamned partner didn't know his name.

Everyone was staring at Danny, and pretending they weren't.

"Well, I do." Livingston said, defiantly.

"He's in prison and wishing isn't going to change that." Turk said firmly, and Virgil nodded.

Frank didn't quite manage to avoid twitching. For a blissful moment he thought he'd got away with it.

Then he realised that both Saul and Danny were staring at him. Oh, hell on a pogo stick.

"He's out? You saw him?" Saul asked incredulously and immediately everyone's head snapped round towards him.

Taking a deep breath he cursed the fact that by necessity he was stuck with friends and associates who could spot a lie at fifty paces. However tempting it was, out and out denial wasn't going to do him a damned bit of good.

"Ten days ago." he said finally.

"Well, where is he?" Reuben demanded. "How come he's not been by?"

Frank shrugged. "Couldn't tell you."

"Can't or won't?" Saul asked sharply.

"Can't." Frank said firmly. It was the one thing Rusty had asked of him. "Drop it. Please."

There was a general shuffling and reluctant agreement. He heard Linus ask Basher again who the hell Rusty was, the frustration in his voice obvious. Looking round, meeting his friends' eyes, he realised that he was going to be facing a lot of questions in the next few days.

He also realised that Danny had shown no interest whatsoever. For all Frank could see, he genuinely didn't care that Rusty was back. God, he really wished he'd managed to keep this secret.

* * *

Laughing, Linus followed Danny upstairs, the new contractor IDs a comforting weight in his jacket pocket. That had gone really well. Which, considering the kind of week it had been, had positively surprised him. This whole Rusty thing had Danny, well, twitched was the only word he could think of. And he'd finally got Basher and Reuben to tell him just who Rusty was, and what they knew about what had happened between him and Danny. Which wasn't much. So, this Rusty guy had used to work with Danny. Then he got caught, got sent to prison and Danny had gone to visit him and the next thing that anyone knew Danny had gone straight and was apparently as miserable as anything, and couldn't even stand to hear Rusty's name mentioned. And Linus didn't know what it all added up to, but he knew where his loyalties were and if he ever met this guy . . . well. He was prepared to do a considerable amount of hating.

In the meantime, it had been a good day.

"I don't believe you said that to him." he grinned, as Danny stopped outside the door and searched his pockets for the room key.

"Well, he was just standing there. I had to give him something." Danny shrugged and swung the door open.

There was a man standing in the room, facing the window. _The _man, the one that had been following them. Linus' first instinct was to head back out the door with all possible speed, but when Danny stepped further into the room, Linus really had no option but to follow.

The door closing behind them was not a reassuring sound.

"Good evening, Danny." the man said, turning round with a smile that would have been friendly on a shark. "Oh, and Linus, isn't it? Linus . . . Caldwell. It's a good thing that your father doesn't know the kind of company you're keeping."

Not good. Several layers of not good in fact. And why did everyone always have to mention his dad?

"I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage – "

" – Yes." the man interrupted. "I do." He was still looking at Linus. "I don't know, Danny – it is all right if I call you Danny, isn't it?" Danny didn't move, but the man seemed to take assent for granted. "Young, fair haired, good looking . . . you know, if you didn't have a wife – sorry, ex-wife – then people might begin to wonder. And would you be upset, I wonder, if you lost _him_?"

There was something in the way he said it. Some hidden cruelty that Linus could hear but couldn't understand. Danny didn't visibly react. "I still don't know who you are."

The man smiled again, amusement written on every feature. "You really don't do you? How . . . amusing. And after I came so close to sending you to prison for a very long time."

Danny's stillness bothered Linus in a way he couldn't articulate.

And their enemy – and just because he had no idea what was going on didn't mean that he wasn't prepared to start assigning labels – their enemy seemed to see it too. And revel in it. "I'm Special Agent Harry Carson, FBI."

Oh, the not good just got critical.

"And what do you want, Agent Carson?" Danny asked politely.

"Terry Benedict." Carson answered promptly, and unexpectedly.

Danny smiled. "What a coincidence."

"Isn't it?" Carson's answering smile made Linus grit his teeth. "I want an excuse to get into his business. A high profile crime would fit the bill perfectly. The sort of thing you specialise in."

"You've been following us. You know our plans." Linus stepped in.

"Yes." Carson said, dismissively. "And they won't do."

Linus blinked. "What?"

"It's small time." Carson seemed to take pleasure in the pronouncement. Linus had to bite back his protests. Small time? Knocking over a Vegas casino was small time? "Strictly amateur hour. Not nearly enough to justify the kind of investigation I'm looking to launch."

"Not our problem." Danny answered tightly.

"Oh, but I'm afraid it is." Carson reached behind him and produced a suitcase and snapped it open with the air of one producing a rabbit from a hat. "Have a look at these."

He offered them a selection of photographs. Each showed one of the ten of them, obviously in the process of committing some crime. Linus found himself focussing on one of Saul with his hand on a case full of money, standing on front of a guy who had 'mark' written all over him.

Carson noticed his attention. "Ah yes, a rather nice Babe Montgomery run on one H. P. Sandiford nearly a year ago. That alone would be enough to get him three years. Along with all the other things I have to throw at him, well. Mr. Bloom is an old man. I've got enough to make sure he ends his days in a cell."

Linus' attention shifted to a picture of him, obviously casing a jewellery store. Which was fine, except he didn't recognise it. Not at all. It hadn't happened.

"And it would still be such a long time, for the rest of you. I have so much lovely evidence you see. And some of it's even real!" Carson's voice was gleeful. "Tell me, Danny, just how many of your friends _are_ you willing to see go to prison for you? Of course, you'd be going away for a long stretch too. And after all the lengths that you went to avoid it last time. Such a waste."

"What do you want?" Danny asked, an edge in his voice that Linus had never heard before.

"Your first plan, I believe, involved hitting three casinos at once. The Bellagio, the Mirage and the MGM Grande." He laughed at Linus' look. "What can I say? I did my homework. I saw what blueprints you've got. Anyway, I want you to do that. Three weeks from today."

"It can't be done." Linus said immediately. They'd been through this. They'd checked out the plan, it just wasn't possible.

Carson smiled at him and brushed past him towards the door. "Find a way." he ordered, and then he was gone.

Still holding the photographs, Danny crossed to the window and stared out. "We're going to need to do it."

"But it can't be done." Linus repeated.

Danny sighed and with unexpected violence threw down the photographs. "Everything can be done. Everything." He clenched his fists tight. "I need to talk to Frank."

* * *

**And look people! We have an actual bad guy! And plot! Had to happen sooner or later.**

**Hope that was okay? **


	5. Chapter 4

**Wasn't expecting this to be done so fast. But it was. And then I deleted it. And reuploaded it. So if you got a bad link or something, sorry.**

**And though I said in the first chapter that this whole story was for InSilva, this particular chapter is even more so. Because I always need the reassurance and the second opinion. And I always get it. **

* * *

He'd dreamt again. He knew that now. But for a few long moments (a few long hours?) he hadn't been sure which was the dream. Had thought that this warmth and near comfort might be yanked away from him at any minute. Had lain perfectly still, perfectly silent, not daring to open his eyes, not daring to believe that this was real, not daring to believe that he wasn't back there again.

The cold tile beneath his cheek. The taste of blood. The laughter. Boots kicking into his ribs again and again and again. Their voices as they told him how they were going to hurt him. Could be any one of a hundred times. Or all of them. But he'd been begging in the dream. Pleading with Him in a way that he never had in real life. (_Had he?)_ And Danny had been there.

Danny had been there. Not taking part, even his subconscious wasn't _that_ fucked up. But he'd been there, standing right next to Him. Watching the others hurting him, his face blank, his eyes expressionless. And no matter how hard he tried, Rusty hadn't been able to find the voice to ask him for help. (_Beg him. Plead with him_.) And eventually, Danny had turned aside. He'd turned his back on Rusty as he lay bleeding on the cold floor, being torn apart by strangers, and he'd walked away.

'_Didn't happen,'_ he reminded himself. '_Just a dream.'_

Just a dream, and he was still shaking twenty minutes later, his hands clenched so tight he would swear that he could feel fingernail on bone. For the first time it occurred to him that he wasn't getting better.

Oh, physically maybe. Each day when he forced himself to look in the mirror his eyes looked a little less hollow, his face a little less gaunt. He was eating what he needed to and even after just two weeks his weight was slowly creeping back up towards a healthy level. Hell, he was even exercising in the hotel gym, at hours when he could be reasonably sure that no-one else would be there.

And that was the point where it became less clear that he was healing. Because in the past two weeks he'd spoken to a grand total of six different people; Frank; the courier who had delivered the DVD player and what she'd described as 'a shit-load of movies'; the concierge and three different guys delivering room service.

He hadn't left the hotel. Not once. After spending four years with skin crawling with the pressure of being trapped, he'd stepped out into the light and sweet smelling air of freedom and had run away from it at speed. And that was just pathetic.

Pulling the duvet tighter around him, he curled up, closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that he was going to get out of bed at some point today.

Hours later the phone rang. He poked his head out from under the covers and eyed it suspiciously. It was either Frank, or else the manager to say that the credit card he was using was slightly non-existent. Which would be bad. He didn't have any money.

He picked up the receiver. "Hello?" His voice sounded hoarse with sleep. Just with sleep.

"Mr Dufresne?" The voice was cheerful, almost running to giggly. "I have a call for you."

Frank, then. "Okay."

There was a pause, and then Frank came on the line. "Rusty? I messed up."

"How?" he managed.

There was a pause. "Are you all right?" Frank asked, cautiously.

He managed not to giggle. Managed to pull himself together, at least a little. "Sorry, I was asleep."

"Right." Frank sounded mostly convinced. "Sorry. They know you're out. I didn't tell them. But Livingston said . . . and I guess I gave it away."

Great. "Who's 'they'?"

"Sorry," Frank said again. Something had him bothered. Something more than this. "Uh, Livingston, Basher, Turk and Virgil, Reuben, Saul and Danny." He finished noticeably quicker than he had begun. "They don't know where you are, or what name you're using. I wouldn't tell them. But Danny asked me to call you."

For a moment his heart leapt in his chest. But then he put it together. Frank, more worried than he should be. Danny, asking Frank to contact him. "How much trouble are you in?"

"Rusty – " Frank began.

" – It's all right." he interrupted. "How bad?"

"It's bad," Frank admitted. "Some FBI guy has enough to put all of us away."

Saul. Reuben. Basher, Frank, Livingston, the Malloys. Danny. Still not going to happen.

"And you think I can help?" He managed to keep his voice on the right side of incredulous. Frank had seen him.

"Yeah. Danny asked. You see things differently."

And Danny asked and he came running. That hadn't changed. He closed his eyes and rested the receiver against his forehead for a long moment and wondered if it was too late now to pretend he'd never gone to see Frank. To seek out those other plans. Then he sighed. "I'll be there in twenty four hours. You're in Vegas?"

"The Bellagio. Rusty I'm – "

"Twenty four hours." Rusty said, and hung up.

* * *

Saul watched as Frank stepped back into the room, his face drawn.

"Done," he announced, looking at Danny who was stretched out on the sofa leafing through a glossy magazine like it was the most fascinating thing ever. And it was the right way up, and he wasn't just pretending to read the one sentence over and over. Saul was impressed. "He'll get here tomorrow."

Danny nodded but didn't look up. Frank looked disheartened.

Personally, Saul wasn't so sure that this was such a great idea. Yes, Danny and Rusty together had been the best, but there was a difference between 'together' and simply 'occupying the same space'. He'd tried to point that out, but Danny had simply answered that people could work together even when they hated each other. And that had shut Saul up quickly. Because even after everything he'd seen the last four years, to hear Danny use the word hate in reference to Rusty . . . it was just wrong. And almost painful. Then Danny had looked away and said that if this was going to work, they needed him. And Saul realised that this wasn't the first time that Danny had known that he needed Rusty. Four years was a long time.

Such a terrible waste, all of it.

But that wasn't the only thing that had him worried. Because Frank had said that Rusty had lost some weight. He'd said it nonchalantly. Casually. Dismissively. Three times. Frank had concerns, that out of loyalty or whatever, he wasn't willing to share, and part of Saul was worried that Rusty wouldn't be up for this. The rest of him was just generally worried. He wished that they had more time. That he could think of a different plan. That Danny had actually used Rusty's name, at least once during the conversation.

And most of all, he wished Rusty had called him four years ago.

With a heavy sigh he approached Frank. Livingston was close behind him. That didn't matter; they both wanted the same answers. He knew that.

"How is he?" he asked Frank quietly.

On the sofa, Danny turned a page in his magazine.

"He's fine, Saul. You know Rusty."

Yes. He did. That was why he wasn't reassured. He should have been the one to call. No matter what had happened, he told himself, Rusty would listen to him. "Where is he?" he asked quietly and he could hear the desperate concern betrayed in his own voice.

Frank, of course, didn't miss it. And Danny turned a page just a little too forcefully.

"The Borgata. Staying under the name of Andrew Dufresne," Frank said reluctantly, and Saul realised that he wasn't expecting Rusty to still be there.

"Thank you," he said.

Livingston frowned. "Wait, Andrew Dufresne? Andy Dufresne? As in Shawshank Redemption?"

Danny dropped the magazine. They all ignored him.

Frank looked as confused as Saul felt.

Livingston dropped his voice to a whisper. "He was let out of prison normally, right? No tunnels or anything?"

As Frank shook his head, Saul was sure he heard Danny stifle a laugh.

* * *

Twenty four hours almost exactly and Rusty stood in the hallway in the Bellagio and tried to persuade himself that he was ready for this.

He'd left the hotel almost as soon as he was off the phone with Frank, only stopping to have a shower and get himself looking as good as possible. All he'd taken were the clothes he stood up in. Everything else he'd left behind. None of it meant anything anyway.

As soon as he headed into town he'd pulled five short cons in quick succession. Mostly because he needed money in the bank and in his pocket, but also because he had to prove that he could still do it. And now he had enough that he could truthfully say he wasn't completely destitute and was confident enough to say that he wasn't going to be completely useless to Danny. But that had been the easy part.

Next he'd gone shopping. He needed a whole new wardrobe and a suitcase to carry it in. And if he didn't have so much previous experience, that would have been one of the most painful things he'd ever forced himself to do.

He'd deliberately sought out the places where the crowds were thickest. Where the people were loudest. Where the lights were brightest. He'd stood amongst the hoards of people and let them jostle him and rub against him and touch him and talk at him and he'd stood and taken it and forced it not to hurt anymore. Concrete over the cracks. No more weaknesses. No more self-pity. And if he could do this, maybe he'd be able to spend a few weeks with his friends – a few weeks with Danny – and not be seen.

In the end he'd put together a wardrobe of bright suits and shiny shirts. Because even if his new instincts were screaming against being obvious, there was a big difference between not being seen and not being noticed. It wasn't strangers he was trying to hide from this time. And with the outrageous clothes, (stylish, he corrected himself mentally) with the sunglasses, and with a couple of Hershey bars and a tootsie roll in his pocket, there was a chance that no-one would notice what was underneath.

Of course, when he knocked on the door and Saul answered and looked at him disapprovingly, it took him so much stop himself from breaking down and confessing to every single choice he'd made.

"Hi Saul," he said instead, and smiled warmly.

"Robert." Saul stepped aside and let him in, and there was something in the way he said his name that Rusty recognised. It meant 'We _will_ be talking later.'

Danny was in the corner, talking to a kid that Rusty didn't recognise. Neither of them had looked round when Rusty came in. He told himself that he didn't notice. And that it didn't matter.

Then Reuben came up and threw an arm over his shoulder. "Rusty! Thank God you're here. You know how boring it's been playing poker with this crowd? No-one cheats worth a damn."

Rusty grinned, and despite the blood pounding through his head, he felt something inside him relax, just a little. "I never cheat," he lied outrageously. Reuben just laughed and squeezed his shoulder and he tried not to think about the scar beneath.

"Sure, and Virgil doesn't snore." Turk came up and attempted some sort of complicated handshake thing. Rusty was able to fake it better than Turk was.

Virgil smacked his brother round the head. "You snore. Wait, you drool."

Turk ignored him. "Anyway, how was the joint?" he asked.

"Same old, same old," Rusty answered, without even a pause. "Prison food sucks," he added, because it was expected.

"So I hear," Virgil agreed. "What you get for getting caught."

Rusty avoided looking at Danny. But then, he'd been doing that since he came in.

"We missed you, man," Basher said, sincerity ringing in his voice. "And you look like death warmed up."

"Thanks," Rusty grinned at him. Somehow, it didn't hurt from Basher.

"Andrew Dufresne?" Livingston asked him, a frown on his face.

He possibly shouldn't have used that alias. But he hadn't been expecting it to be around enough for anyone to notice. "Few more months and it might have been Edmond Dantes," he joked easily and Livingston smiled and seemed to accept it.

Frank nodded uneasily and Rusty threw him a look that meant 'no hard feelings'.

Then everyone seemed to step aside and for the first time in four years Rusty found himself face to face with Danny.

He didn't try and meet his eyes. He wasn't entirely stupid. Instead he smiled, and waited for a few moments. Allowing Danny time to study him, if he wanted to.

Then, with all the casualness that he would never ever feel he said "Just so we're clear? I don't regret it and I'm not sorry."

Danny didn't flinch, not that he would have expected him to. He just nodded thoughtfully. "I'm never going to forgive you."

Okay. As long as that was settled, they could work together.

The room was silent. Not entirely unexpected, but they both needed to be sure that everyone was on the same page with them. That no-one was harbouring any kind of delusions about happy endings.

His gaze drifted to the two people he hadn't met. Of course, Danny noticed. "Sorry. Rusty, this is the Amazing Yen, greaseman extraordinaire." Rusty smiled and nodded to the little Chinese guy who'd been watching him thoughtfully. Somewhat to his surprise, Yen smiled back. "And this is Linus Caldwell. My new partner."

And that didn't hurt in the slightest. Should have. But it didn't.

* * *

**For those who may not know Andy Dufresne is the main character in 'The Shawshank Redemption'. Edmond Dantes is the main character in 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. Both characters are in prison. Both characters escape. **


	6. Chapter 5

Danny had managed to last almost six hours before he inadvertently met Rusty's eyes. And it was everything that he had been dreading.

It had been surprisingly easy to work with Rusty. The moment that they had started studying the blueprints together, the moment that he'd finished explaining his first, abortive thoughts, Rusty had nodded thoughtfully and the plan had started falling into place. They talked their way through the fake vault, the phone call, the camera switch, the exit strategy. They'd run through all the different ways of getting Yen into the vault before agreeing, and then that had given Rusty the means to distract security. The plan had flowed, a living thing, easy in a way that nothing had been for so, so long.

Not that it was like what it had been. Not in the slightest really. Everything was said out loud. Politely. And in complete sentences. Danny was careful of that. The few times that he knew what Rusty was thinking, he waited until it was said aloud before agreeing. And he pretended to himself that he didn't _know_ that Rusty was doing the same thing.

Most of the others drifted off within the first couple of hours, content to let him and Rusty figure it out between them, now that they were sure there was going to be no shouting. Linus lingered, as did Saul. Checking on him and Rusty respectively, Danny would guess. But eventually even they left and Danny was alone with the one person in the world that he had no idea how to talk to.

It wasn't until the fifth time he noticed Rusty stifling a yawn that Danny started wondering if he should say anything. He wasn't sure yet where the boundaries of this thing were. He needed to be careful.

Because there was a tiny part of him, something that he'd thought he'd killed off a long time ago that had started screaming the moment Rusty had walked into the hotel room. Like he wasn't going to notice that the weight that Rusty had lost was far more than could ever be considered healthy. Like he wasn't going to notice the effort that it was taking Rusty to stand in that room and talk to his friends. Like he wasn't going to notice the way that Rusty had tensed for a fraction of a second when Reuben had hugged him. Like he hadn't got every damned significance of that damned alias and felt them like the accusation they weren't. But there was a difference between noticing and caring. Still. That little part of him was screaming. And that was why he'd been afraid to look Rusty in the eyes.

But he'd had to of course. It was inevitable, and he supposed it was better that it had happened now rather than some time when it might have been crucial.

He'd lied finally, said something about being beat and needing to rest. Suggesting that they pick this up tomorrow. Rusty had been surprised of course, and had turned round sharply and looked straight at him for the first time. And Danny hadn't been prepared. He'd looked into Rusty's eyes, and he hadn't been prepared and he knew, he just knew, that all of it had showed in his face.

Rusty had stared at him. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me." he'd said, fiercely and then he'd practically run out of the room, leaving Danny to sink down onto the sofa and mourn.

Four years. Four years and Danny had read every second of it in an instant. Every fresh pain, every humiliation, every damned day of misery and drudgery. He'd seen the things that had been done to Rusty, and the things that Rusty had done to himself and, god help him, he'd seen the things that _he'd_ done to Rusty. He could see all of the damage. Every single wound. Every single defilement. He could see how broken Rusty was. And this was what their partnership – their friendship – had led to.

And he wished, more than anything, that he'd seen hatred in Rusty's eyes. Because he could have lived with that, but he couldn't live with the love. Not anymore.

Linus came back in a few hours later and found him curled on the sofa, staring into space. "Are you all right?"

Danny looked up. "Oh, I'm fine." he answered, his voice sincere.

Unsurprisingly Linus still looked sceptical. "Really. It's Rusty isn't it? You shouldn't have called him. We would have managed."

"We've got a plan now." Danny shrugged. "And it'll work. We needed him."

"I don't trust him." Linus said, suddenly.

Danny shook his head in amusement. "You can trust him. I do."

"Then why . . . " Linus trailed off.

"He destroyed something that was important to me." Danny answered, not even knowing why. "Apparently I could trust him with everything but that."

"Well, that was a completely useless answer." Linus muttered. "Thanks."

Danny laughed slightly. "Got to let me keep some secrets."

"Right." Linus answered distractedly pacing up and down the room.

"All right, what?" he said after an irritated moment.

"Don't ever do that again." Linus blurted out.

Danny paused and pretended that he didn't know what Linus was talking about. "Do what?"

"You said I was your partner. I'm not your partner, Danny. We both know that. I'm your student, your protégé and your friend. I hope. But I'm not your partner."

"I just – " Danny shrugged.

"Wanted to hurt him." Linus whirled round and stared at him. "You're better than that. And I can't believe you'd use me like that."

"I'm sorry." Danny said sincerely. And he was. It had been a stupid, childish thing to do and it really hadn't been fair on Linus. But he'd wanted a reaction of some sort from Rusty. And he hadn't got one, and that frightened him a little.

"Yeah, well. Okay." Linus calmed down almost immediately, and Danny reflected that he'd never actually got the kid mad at him before. Infuriated, exasperated, annoyed and just plain confused loads of times. But never actually angry. He resolved not to do it again; it was like poking a puppy with a stick. "So you really think this plan will work? How are we going to get the codes?"

Danny grinned. "Funny you should ask that . . . "

* * *

Saul looked at the blood dripped across the carpet and cursed himself for not going with his gut instinct. He should have spoken to Rusty the previous night. But when he'd stopped by Rusty's room, after he and Danny had finished plotting (And how could they construct plans like that when they couldn't even look each other in the eye?) Rusty had looked so drained that Saul had told himself that the next morning would do just as well. He'd thought that it might be easier for both of them to talk over breakfast, in daylight. Yeah. Mistake.

He took in Rusty, standing in the doorway, fear in his eyes, leaning on the doorframe as though it was the only thing keeping him attached to the world, tissue paper pressed tightly into his palm and the blood slowly trickling out from underneath it, leaving red trails on the black ink down his wrist and Saul just couldn't decide whether anger or terror fit the way he was feeling better.

And then, impossibly, Rusty smiled. "Morning, Saul." He yawned. "This is – "

" – Shut up." Saul said levelly and pushed Rusty back inside the room. He pointed at the nearest chair. "Sit. Stay."

His eyes clouded, Rusty obeyed. Saul sighed and reached out gently to rest his hand against Rusty's forehead for a long moment, before carefully brushing his hand through Rusty's hair.

Rusty didn't move away, but he did raise an eyebrow.

"Just checking that you don't have a fever." he lied gruffly, not caring that Rusty knew the truth. "You never did anything I ask that easily before."

"Saul." Rusty shook his head. "It isn't – "

" – Keep that hand elevated." he said, sharply "I'll be back in a minute."

As soon as the door closed behind him, he leaned against the corridor wall and fought to get his breathing under control. Oh, _God_. How was he supposed to handle this? He wanted so badly to go and fetch Danny. To force Danny to see. But that could backfire really badly.

Instead he headed across the hallway to Livingston's room, and, with a quick glance around to make sure that no-one was looking, broke in. He knew that Livingston had left at the crack of dawn. Something about needing different equipment now that the plan had changed, and he'd dragged Virgil on what sounded like the shopping trip from hell. But that was all to the good now, because Saul knew from previous experience that Livingston always had a first aid kit stocked for every contingency he could think of. (Along with a few that Saul would never understand. He'd had anti-malaria pills in Brooklyn. And just because they'd come in handy, didn't change the point.)

He found the kit easily enough and hurried back. Rusty hadn't moved. "It's nothing, Saul."

Saul's gaze travelled to the open bathroom door and the shards of broken, bloodied, mirror. "This is going to hurt." he warned, as he gently moved the tissues away and replaced them with a length of gauze.

Rusty caught him looking. Of course. "I tripped. Put my hand through the mirror. It's nothing, just a scratch." He tried to take the gauze out of Saul's hand. "And I can do this myself."

Saul was immovable. He kept the pressure on. "Is that the story you're going with?"

"It's the truth." Rusty said immediately, his eyes amused. "Do you think I should make something else up? Something less embarrassing?"

"Rusty." Saul hardly recognised his own voice. Soft and pleading, with the weight of twenty years worth of affection behind it.

Rusty sagged back against the sofa. "That's the story I'm going with." he said quietly, after a long moment.

They sat in silence for a long time. The bleeding slowed and finally stopped, to Saul's relief.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Saul asked, as he reached for the antiseptic.

"Now or then?" Rusty asked his eyes fixed on the bottle.

"Both." He pressed the soaked gauze against Rusty's palm and ignored the flinch, even as it hurt him.

"No." Rusty said simply, and even as he cleaned the wound, Saul wondered why he'd bothered asking.

"Rusty – " he sighed.

" – It was my fault, okay?" Rusty cut in, frustration in his voice. "I can tell you that, anyway. I'm the one who fucked things up."

Saul paused and looked him straight in the eye. "No. Don't believe that. Because if that was true then where did 'I don't regret it and I'm not sorry' come from?"

"I said it was my fault. I didn't say it was a mistake. I knew what I was doing. And I knew what was going to happen." And he could hear the truth in that.

He looked down at Rusty's palm. Three long cuts, two still oozing blood, just a little, and several more tiny ones. Nothing that looked like it would need stitches, at least.

"I told you it was nothing." Rusty said and Saul managed to resist the urge to slap him.

"It's not nothing." he said quietly. He fetched a length of bandage and began wrapping it. Rusty began to protest that this too, he could do, but Saul silenced him with a look.

"I couldn't call you." Rusty said suddenly, flexing his fingers to check the finished bandage. Saul knew they were back to four years ago. "And I couldn't let you visit."

He kept silent. Non-judgemental.

"I would have told you, and you couldn't have done anything except be disappointed. And you might have told Danny." The last was said in a whisper.

Danny. Everything came back there eventually. "I should tell him now." he pointed out. Even without the history, as the man in charge of this little disaster, Danny should be told.

"Don't. Please, Saul. Don't. Anyway, he wouldn't . . . " Rusty trailed off and Saul stared at him incredulously.

If they were going to have that conversation then he wanted some kind of reinforcement. He reached for the phone.

"Who are you calling?" Rusty asked sharply.

"Room service." Saul said voice placating. "Calm down."

"I'm not hungry." Rusty protested ridiculously.

Saul glared at him and ordered two rounds of practically everything on the breakfast menu.

Sensing that they both needed to relax a little, Saul started talking about the job until the food was delivered. Rusty jumped on the topic gratefully, and they got so involved in discussing the problems with the exact mechanism of getting the cell phone to Benedict, that the knock at the door made them both jump.

Saul tipped the guy a hundred to ignore the broken mirror. It could be cleared up later. And despite his claims not to be hungry, Rusty was soon investigating the contents of every dish. Which was somewhat reassuring. Though the fact that he quickly assembled a pancake sandwich was just disturbing.

"I got fruit juice, grapefruit and things with actual protein." Saul remarked. "Eat them."

Rusty blinked at him.

Saul sighed, reached for the bacon and deposited a fair amount on both plates. "Do you want to start looking human again or not? You eat like a twelve year old."

Rusty looked at his sandwich thoughtfully. "Needs lemon juice." he remarked.

There were some things that it had always astonished Saul that Danny was able to put up with.

He waited until Rusty had cleared his plate and had started taking a second helping before he spoke. (And that had hurt. Because Rusty had always eaten a lot. But he'd never had that desperate quality before.)

"So, what shouldn't I be telling Danny?" he asked, casually.

Fork in hand, Rusty smiled. "How about anything?"

Nodding slowly he realised that he wouldn't. He wasn't going to tell Danny about any of this, even though he should. And he wasn't going to insist that Rusty was in no state to take part in the job. He couldn't do that for two reasons. Firstly, after last night he had no doubts that they needed Rusty if they were going to come out of this unscathed. Despite everything, he hadn't seen Danny that on top of his game since, well, since the last time he was working with Rusty. And secondly, and far more importantly, if he said anything, if Rusty left then he'd have no way of knowing where he went or what he was doing. And under the circumstances that just wasn't an option. No, Rusty had to stay where Saul had some hope of protecting him from himself. "Okay then."

Rusty looked surprised that it had been so easy. Saul waited a few moments and then, with no particular emphasis, said; "He's miserable. You do know that, right?"

Looking up in surprise, Rusty frowned. "The job's gone bad. What do you expect?"

Saul looked at him sternly. "Self deception has never been one of your vices." he pointed out and Rusty dipped his head in acknowledgement. "He didn't stop pulling jobs for Tess' sake. He needs you."

"For this." Rusty shook his head and Saul cursed that particular line of stubbornness. "Otherwise I'm the last thing he needs."

"Really." Saul let his disbelief flavour his voice. "He's miserable. He needs you. And you need him."

"I'm doing fine." Rusty didn't raise his voice, but there was an edge and an undercurrent.

Saul stared at the bandaged hand and thought of the broken mirror and said nothing.

"It's just a scratch, Saul. It's nothing. And it won't happen again. I promise." Rusty's words carried the ring of truth, and he looked Saul squarely in the eye. And Saul believed him, but the trouble was he knew that if he'd asked Rusty yesterday, Rusty would have said that it wouldn't happen at all.

"It's not nothing, Rusty." he said gently, and he didn't just mean the mirror.

Rusty just shook his head and looked away.

He looked at the man that he cared for as a son and made one, final attempt to reach him. "Surrender has never been in your nature." he said, very quietly.

And just for a second he thought he saw something flicker deep in Rusty's eyes. And just for a second he had hope.

* * *

**So. Be very interested to know what people make of this. Is it heading in the direction that anyone anticipated? Actually, is it heading in the direction that anyone likes? **


	7. Chapter 6

**My email and my review replies don't seem to be working at the moment. Sorry. But believe me I'm incredibly thankful to everyone who has been nice enough to leave reviews. **

* * *

Linus was only giving half his attention to watching the floor manager. Watching Rusty seemed just as important. Because no matter what Danny said, he just wasn't ready to start trusting the man. And he knew he was right to think that way, because he'd noticed the way that Saul and Reuben were glaring at Rusty this morning. Well, glaring was probably the wrong word. Frowning anyway. At any rate they were nervous, and Linus had determined that he was going to make sure that Rusty never even got a chance to screw them over.

Though to be fair, that sounded a little too energetic for the man sprawled at the bar, rolling a glass of Pepsi against his temple and gazing vacantly out at the roulette wheels. Linus had no idea what was supposed to be so special about him anyway. Okay, so maybe when he and Danny had been talking last night, that had been something, but half of those ideas had been Danny's anyway. And surely he could have come up with them just as easily without Rusty.

He looked again. Too thin to be good looking, dressed in a shirt that was too obnoxious for him to hope to blend in anywhere, and the bandaged hand holding the Pepsi, well, that only proved that he was far too clumsy to be a good thief anyway. No, Linus really couldn't see anything special. Although admittedly the hand did at least prove that he had a sense of humour and could laugh at himself. When Frank had asked him what had happened, and he'd given an embarrassed grin before launching headfirst into the explanation – the twins had soon been roaring with laughter, and Linus had to admit he'd felt himself smiling. But the ability to tell a good story, while useful, wasn't nearly enough to get people talking about him the way that they did. Personally Linus was willing to bet that he'd been riding on Danny's coattails for years. Maybe that was what the argument had been about.

"Oops." Rusty said quietly, without looking round at him.

"What?" Linus started to ask, just as three large men came out of nowhere and hauled a guy with a handlebar moustache away from one of the roulette wheels, and towards the stairs, bouncing his head off a couple of chairs on the way. "Ouch."

"Yeah." Rusty agreed, frowning. "Did you see where the third guy came from? I got the one at the slots, and the other by the bar, but I'm not sure whether the third was from behind pit two or from the cage."

Linus had absolutely no idea. "Uh . . . "

Rusty looked round. "Never mind. The guy at the cage is still there. Must have been pit two. Shame, we could have used that."

"What happened?" he asked, wishing that he had been giving the floor his full attention.

"Oh, he palmed the ball. Replaced it with a weighted one." He sighed and rolled the glass some more. "That trick's not worked like that since the stone age, but they will keep trying."

Okay, so maybe there was something. But that didn't mean he had to like the guy.

"By the way," Rusty added, draining his glass and setting it down. "If this is going to work, it's probably best if you pay the job more attention than me." He smiled with a surprising charm that took the sting out of his words.

Linus still felt himself flush. "It's just that I don't trust you." he found himself explaining. Ridiculously.

"Good." Rusty said cheerfully.

Linus blinked. "Wait, you mean I shouldn't trust you?"

"No," Rusty's voice was patient. "I mean it's good that you have Danny's back like that."

"It's not about him." Linus protested.

"Sure." Rusty nodded.

"It's not." he insisted. "It's just that I don't know you. A week ago I'd never even heard of you."

Rusty paused for a fraction of a second too long for it to seem natural. "If Danny didn't think he could trust me with this, he'd never have had Frank call me."

"I just don't see how he can! He said that you'd ruined something important."

Rusty actually smiled at that, which did nothing for Linus' temper. "We had an argument. It happens."

"I can't accept that." The way everyone was talking, the way Danny was talking, there had to be something else underneath it.

"I could tell you that I was sneaking around with his wife, or that I stole two million dollars from him, if it makes it any easier." Rusty shrugged.

Linus ground his teeth and turned back to stare out at the casino floor. If Rusty wasn't going to take this seriously there was no point in it.

They sat in silence for a while. "At least there's no sign of Carson today." Linus said suddenly. Now that he had been looking out for.

Rusty turned round slowly. "Carson?"

"The FBI agent." Linus frowned. "Someone must have mentioned - "

" – Not his name." Rusty cut in. "Shit."

"You know him?" Linus asked then suddenly thought. "He said that he'd nearly arrested Danny before - that was when you were working together?"

"Yeah." Rusty answered. "I've met him a couple of times. This isn't good."

"Why is it worse that it's him?"

"He isn't going to let Danny go. He isn't going to let any of you go." Rusty exhaled slowly. "But we can use him."

Linus didn't even think about it, he was completely caught up. "How?"

Rusty rubbed at the corner of his mouth. "You care about Danny, right?"

"Of course I do." Linus answered, stung.

"Then back me up." Rusty smiled at him and for a moment Linus could completely see what the others saw in him.

* * *

There was a time when coming back to his room to find Rusty sitting at the table, looking through a pile of plans wouldn't have bothered him at all. But that had been a long time ago, and when it actually happened, his instinct was to head rapidly in the other direction.

"We need to talk." Rusty said calmly and Danny found himself closing the door and sitting down opposite him.

"Okay." he said, and waited.

"Carson?" Rusty asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Were you going to tell me?"

"How much of an issue is it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Rusty shook his head slowly. "You really think he's going to let you go once this is done?"

"He wants Benedict." Danny pointed out.

"Yes." Rusty agreed immediately. "And he wants you."

"Can we pay him off?" he asked futilely.

Rusty just stared at him. "No."

"You did." That much had been obvious.

Rusty smiled thinly. "I gave him someone to arrest."

Danny bit back several unpleasant things he felt like saying. "We're giving him Benedict."

"Not enough. He wants you, Danny. Probably been thinking about this for the past four years."

Rusty was right, of course, he'd already known that. He just hadn't seen any way round it. But he knew that Rusty did. "So?"

"So I was thinking. How about we pull a Verbal Kint?" There was a familiar glint in Rusty's eyes. It would work.

"No." Danny said immediately, unthinkingly, the weight of all their history behind it.

"No?" Rusty's voice reminded him of the last four years.

"He could put you back in jail right now." Danny pointed out. Parole violation wasn't exactly the crime of the century, but it wasn't possible that Carson wouldn't know.

"From what I hear he could put all of you in jail right now. That's not what he wants. And we could use him."

They could use him. After all, they didn't want to be hiding for the rest of their lives. The Verbal would play brilliantly on Carson. And it wasn't as if Danny would have to pay the price. Still, he thought, and it cheered him up for some reason, Linus would never go for it. He'd give the kid a say, show him that even if he hadn't meant the partner bit, his opinion mattered, and Linus didn't trust Rusty so he'd never go for it and it wouldn't happen.

But Rusty was looking at him with that same expression that he'd worn back in that interview room four years ago. And Danny remembered that Rusty saw everything coming and never played fair.

"Fine. Go to hell in your own way." Danny said quietly, and ignored the little voice that pointed out that Rusty already had.

Rusty grinned and Danny felt like screaming. "I still owe you that two million. Willing to wait till after the job is done?"

* * *

The bandages itched, Rusty decided, not for the first time. He made a conscious effort to avoid rubbing at them; the last thing he needed was anyone noticing again and maybe even questioning the story he'd sold them on. Nearly everyone had believed him. Not Reuben though, Rusty was almost definite that Saul had said something – probably not the whole truth, but enough that there were two of them constantly watching him with that concerned frown. And Danny's uninterested gaze had just slid right over him. He hadn't even asked what had happened. Which was definitely better than the pity, but Rusty knew himself well enough to admit that something in-between might have been nice. But that almost proved it. Saul was wrong. He just had to keep telling himself that.

He continued to listen, absently, to Turk and Virgil making their report, his unconscious mind successfully picking out the useful information from the conscious stream of bickering and jibes. It was times like these that had always made him glad that he'd been an only child.

Two days and they'd already expanded their net in oh, so many interesting ways. Since Danny's original plan had involved the MGM Grand that was the only place they had detailed enough information for. Which meant that the eleven of them had spent the past forty eight hours learning every inch of the Bellagio and the Mirage. Rusty was just about confident that he knew the name of every last dealer, bartender and waitress, and that he could navigate through all three places blindfolded. He was also confident that he'd been noticed by the right people. And that meant that they were just about ready for phase two.

Actually, phase two was already proceeding; Reuben and Linus had sourced a good place to build the fake vault and the copies of the blueprints were just waiting for him to get a chance to properly study them. There couldn't be any mistakes. And what's more there wouldn't be.

He reached absentmindedly for a danish and was only slightly surprised when Yen glared and immediately shoved the whole plate in his direction. Yeah. For once the fact that there was food everywhere was none of his doing. Every time they had one of these little meetings, someone ordered enough room service to feed an army. And he knew why, of course, and he _was_ grateful but it bothered him.

Because, okay, so he knew he couldn't hide the weight he'd lost. People were going to see that and they were going to have concerns. But it did leave him wondering what else they saw.

The mirror had been a mistake he hadn't seen coming. Maybe he should have, but it simply hadn't occurred to him. He'd just finished fixing his hair, and he'd been checking that he was presentable and normal-looking enough to function – that the nightmares weren't too obviously clinging to him – and he'd suddenly seen what Danny had seen the night before. Every failure. Every weakness. Every time . . . And he'd watched as his hand smashed through the mirror, shattering his reflection, scattering glass and blood, and it had been like someone else was doing it.

It had caught him by surprise. He hadn't seen it coming. He'd hadn't been in control. He wouldn't let it happen like that again.

The twins reached the end of their two-part monologue and he watched Danny look round, inviting anything else.

Livingston spoke up. "Uh, I'm ready to get us into the security system. I've got everything that I need here, I just need access."

Rusty ran through the people who had the right IDs in his head, selecting and rejecting opportunities. Ah. That one. That would work nicely.

"Okay." Danny nodded to Livingston before turning. "Rusty, can you get the necessary ID for him?"

Livingston frowned and actually looked like he was going to say something so Rusty answered quickly. "No problem." he assured Danny.

"Is that everything?" Danny asked the room at large. No-one said anything and then, as Danny nodded, the group disintegrated.

Reaching into his jacket pocket for the cigarettes and lighter that were always there now, Rusty headed out to the balcony, perfectly aware of the people staring at him. And the person who wasn't. Saul was wrong, he told himself again, as he flicked the lighter open and breathed in.

To his surprise, Livingston joined him on the balcony after a few minutes. "I don't believe he said that to you."

"It was nothing." Rusty shrugged. "He had to know."

"He asked if you could do it. _Could_, not _would_." Livingston took a deep breath. "I mean, that's – "

" – I get it." he interrupted. "It's nothing."

Livingston subsided a little. "Okay." There was a pause. "Can we talk?"

"I kind of thought we were." Rusty smiled and stubbed his cigarette out.

"I mean talk, talk." Livingston apparently wasn't going to be deflected.

Rusty paused and lit another cigarette. He risked a glance inside the room. Looked like no-one was paying attention. "I kind of thought we were doing that too."

Livingston sighed. "It takes two, Rusty."

"Are we still talking about talking?" he grinned but Livingston ignored it.

"I just want to have a conversation where I ask you something and you answer it. Properly."

"What do you want to ask?" He carefully avoided saying that he was going to answer.

"Andrew Dufresne and Edmond Dantes." Livingston stopped.

Rusty blinked. Not what he'd been expecting. "Yeah?"

"They were both innocent." Livingston said quietly.

Ah. His puzzled expression didn't change. "Yeah? So?"

"That's it." Livingston looked straight at him and there was a tormented look in his eyes. "They were both innocent. And you were calling yourself Andy Dufresne, and you said it might have been Edmond Dantes, and – "

" – And you think I might have . . . " He laughed and shook his head. "Livingston. You know me. I haven't been innocent since I was . . . actually, I've never been innocent."

"Right." Livingston still sounded sceptical.

"Look, there's no great mystery here. I'm a thief. I got caught. I went to prison." He managed to sound impatient.

Livingston hesitated. "You and Danny – "

" - Nothing lasts forever. We had an argument, we fell out, end of." He shrugged. "It happens."

"I don't believe it." Livingston shook his head stubbornly. Then he stared down at Rusty's hand. "And I don't believe _that_ either."

Rusty's mouth tightened and he threw the cigarette over the side. "Believe what you want." He stepped back inside hastily, knowing that Livingston wouldn't insist on having the conversation anywhere they might be overheard. But he could feel Livingston staring after him.

One more person to try and avoid. This was getting complicated.

* * *

**Rusty's right, this is getting complicated. Hope people are still liking? **


	8. Chapter 7

**Much thanks to InSilva for provision of lines of brilliance. Mate, you're a deeply twisted individual.**

* * *

Rusty leaned heavily against the bar and tried his best to tune out the sound of Linus' voice. Apparently following Benedict around was a little more interesting than it sounded. At least to Linus. But Rusty had a headache, and had been up all night (because he had to figure out the best way of setting up the trail and not at all because he was afraid of sleeping) and he just wasn't interested in hearing about the effort that Benedict was suddenly putting into expanding his art collection. There was a difference between unexpected and interesting information. Besides, he thought, staring into the mirror over the bar, it was hardly what they were there for.

He reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes, and just for a second he could have sworn that he felt Danny staring at him. When he looked round though, Danny was laughing at something Linus had said. Oh, well.

Lighting the cigarette he considered whether he should duck out of the conversation with Saul later. On the one hand, he was almost certain he wouldn't be able to; Saul had been fairly insistent on the whole 'half an hour a day, just so I can be sure that you're not, well, you know' thing; but on the other hand, it was getting a lot harder not to actually _talk_ talk as Livingston had put it. It wasn't that Saul was pushing him. Actually he'd seemed content to stick to discussing the job, and reminiscing as long as that's what Rusty wanted. He knew perfectly well that the conversations were more about Saul reading how Rusty was doing than anything else. But they were helping at least a little. If nothing else, he could judge from Saul's reactions just how well his control was playing. And Saul had known Rusty for a long time and almost as well as anyone who wasn't Danny, and there _was_ this temptation just to give up and admit to everything. It might even help with this thing with Carson. If the Verbal didn't work, or worked too well, then having someone who knew all of the truth, who actually cared and was prepared to admit it, well, that could make a difference. Huh. He suddenly realised he was back to self-preservation again. Who'd have thought it?

Studying the mirror again, he saw Carson enter the bar and forced himself not to react in any way except to drum his fingers on the counter to attract Danny and Linus' attention. They didn't give any outward sign either, but he knew that Danny at least was aware. Showtime.

Danny and Linus continued to talk about the job – discreetly of course, broad strokes and no details, the way that they'd discussed jobs in public a thousand times before – and both subtly angled their bodies away from him, turned their backs on him ever so slightly, making him obviously the odd man out. It was masterfully done, he had to admit. He didn't have to admit, except to himself, that it made him feel just a little bit lonely.

"So the meet on Tuesday?" Danny asked casually.

Linus shrugged. "Easy enough. As long as we've already got the diary changed."

"I'm on that." Rusty put in. They both turned to stare at him, as if they'd forgotten he was there.

"You sure you're up for it?" Danny asked, his smile sharp, his tone contemptuous and questioning. "I know you're out of practice. Can't expect you to be at the top of your game. Even if that was never that impressive."

For a second Rusty forgot how to breathe. "I said I was on it." he said quietly, and looked down at the floor.

"Sure, whatever." Linus waved a hand at him dismissively and turned away. "Anyway, as far as the meet goes, how are we playing it? I mean, he wants money just for deigning to be on the same continent as us, for God's sake."

"He's easier than you think. Just keep up the charm and flattery." Danny looked over at Rusty. "Sorry you're not invited." he said, with a complete absence of sincerity. "But seriously, don't think you can pitch up and flutter your eyelashes at people and they're going to roll over like they used to. Have you looked in the mirror recently?"

He thought that the pain in his hand was just psychological. Then he realised that he was digging his fingernails into his palm. Well, thank god it was under the counter. Thank god Danny couldn't see. Because he couldn't stand it if he knew just how much of a fuck-up he was.

Linus and Danny laughed. Rusty used to hear laughter like that in prison. Just before things got really bad. He turned away.

Danny grinned at Linus. "Want to go and grab some food?"

"Sure thing." Linus nodded. Neither of them looked at Rusty.

He stared after them as they walked off together and with shaking hands lit another cigarette.

He could feel Carson's eyes boring into the back of his head and knew that he'd seen the whole thing.

Now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

Saul was surprised when Rusty showed up in his doorway with the urge to talk in his eyes. But it was a relief, because there were only so many different ways he could ask 'Are you all right?' and an apparently infinite number of ways that his imagination could come up with to explain exactly how Rusty wasn't all right. And though they'd been talking every day, the closest they'd come so far to acknowledging the reason _why_ had been on the first day when Rusty had casually commented on the way that his razor had miraculously changed into an electric one, and all the glassware in his hotel room had spontaneously vanished. And even Saul hadn't been certain whether he'd imagined the gratitude in Rusty's voice. But part of him hoped that he had. Because more than anything he wanted to be overreacting.

"I chose to go to prison, Saul." Rusty told him, once they were both settled on the sofa.

That was probably the least expected conversational opening he'd ever heard. "Why?" he asked, gently.

Rusty didn't seem to hear him. "I don't mean a plea bargain or anything." Saul had already known that. "I had to get caught. I had to."

"Why?" he asked again, but the dread that was settling in the pit of his stomach told him that he already knew the answer.

"Danny." Rusty said simply. "They were going to arrest him. Tess had just left him, he was . . . upset."

He _wanted_ to get caught, Saul translated mentally, and you wouldn't let him. Stupid, stupid. "You weren't in on the headmask thing." he said out loud.

Rusty shook his head. "He didn't even tell me about it. But Carson had too much evidence." He paused. "I couldn't let him go to jail, Saul. Not when I could stop it."

Saul resisted the urge to scream at him. At this late stage it wouldn't make a difference. "And Danny didn't know." And that explained why Danny was angry. Because this was the very last thing he would ever have wanted. Pride and stubbornness and love. Saul couldn't help but wonder whether knocking their heads together would do any good.

"Didn't let him." Rusty said. "Not until he couldn't interfere. He would have, you know."

No kidding he would have. "You're an idiot." He said levelly. "A too-damned-loyal idiot."

Rusty smiled. "It was my choice, Saul. I knew what I was doing. I've always been selfish."

Saul stared at him incredulously. "Selfish?"

"Couldn't stand to see him hurting." Rusty shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Tess . . . and if he went to jail on top of that. It would be bad."

"So you went to jail instead?" Saul asked trying to find any way in which that sounded reasonable. Because Danny in jail would have been bad. But Rusty in jail? How was that even close to better?

"It was everything you're thinking and more." Rusty's voice was tight and strictly controlled, and Saul could read the neon signs that said that they weren't going to talk about that. "I survived."

And the jury was still out on that, in Saul's opinion. "You shouldn't have done it."

"But I wanted to." Rusty said patiently. "And Tess asked."

"Tess?" Saul asked sharply but Rusty was already shaking his head, obviously regretting having said that.

"Don't go there." he said, simply.

Saul paused. "You mentioned Carson?"

"He arrested me. Guy's as crooked as they come. We made a deal. He took five mill to arrest who he found on the scene and not look any further." He grinned. "You should have seen the expression on his face when he saw it was me."

Not something that Saul found particularly amusing to think about. "And that's the hook that you're going to be using for the Verbal?" he asked, shocked.

"Why not use what we've got?" Rusty shrugged.

Saul sighed and watched Rusty carefully. At least now he knew what had happened. And that would help. Because Saul didn't care so much about making sure Carson got his, and he certainly wasn't bothered about whether Reuben got his revenge on Benedict. (Though actually, even Reuben wasn't especially interested in that, in the circumstances.) All he wanted now was for them all to avoid jail time and for Rusty to get better. And he was almost certain that there was only one way for that to happen.

"Have you even tried to talk to Danny?" he asked after a long moment. "I know he's not happy with this plan."

"It's the best one we've got. And anyway he doesn't . . . " Rusty shook his head slowly, and his eyes seemed to lose focus. "You care, don't you, Saul?"

Saul's breath caught in his throat. "Rusty. Of course I – "

" – I need to go." Rusty interrupted, seeming to snap out of whatever mood he'd momentarily slipped into. "I promised Livingston I'd watch the monitors for a while."

"Rusty – " Saul began.

" - We'll talk later, Saul." Rusty interrupted, standing up.

Saul looked straight at him. "I care about you."

Rusty smiled at him, ever so slightly, before he slipped out of the door.

Yeah. Saul knew exactly what his priorities were. As of now he was prepared to do anything to help Rusty, regardless of the consequences.

* * *

Danny had just stepped into the shop to buy a paper. He hadn't been expecting to get ambushed by Reuben and suckered into a discussion that he really didn't want to have. But Reuben had wanted to discuss Rusty and the cuts on his hand, and that was something that Danny had been avoiding for three days.

"You got to know he's lying." Reuben said, intently.

"Yup." Of course he knew. He just wasn't interested in pursuing it.

"You're telling me that you don't care?" Reuben's tone was disbelieving.

Danny simply shrugged. "There's no problem."

"No problem?" Reuben's eyes were wide. "You've seen him."

"Not _my_ problem, then." Danny corrected.

Reuben was still staring. "You've been miserable and bored for the last four years. And you know that he's – "

" - Not my problem." Danny repeated.

Reuben shook his head incredulously. "You're telling me you feel nothing for him?"

"That's right." He kept his gaze level, nothing to give him away.

Reuben sighed. "Who's the candy for, Danny?"

Nothing except the packet of M&Ms in his hand. He thrust it back on the shelf hastily and threw Reuben a look before he stalked out of the shop and headed upstairs.

At first sight, Livingston was the only one in the room, staring at the screens showing empty corridors as though they were likely to reveal the secrets of the universe any moment. Which made it completely inexplicable when he looked round sharply as Danny entered and frantically shushed him.

Curious, he walked over – quietly – and stood beside Livingston, an enquiring eyebrow raised. Livingston looked past him to the sofa, and he turned and discovered that Rusty had apparently nodded off under a pile of vault plans. Ah. Right.

Livingston shrugged. "He hasn't been sleeping." he whispered.

"How do you know?" Danny asked, equally hushed. Because there was a difference between 'not my problem' and just being mean-spirited. And besides, after the bar earlier about the only way that he was going to feel comfortable in the same room as Rusty was if one of them was unconscious. It had taken more than even he'd been prepared for to sit there and say those things. And even more not to run back and apologise, as soon as they were sure that Carson was out of sight.

"Saul told me." Livingston seemed to anticipate his next question. "And I guess Rusty told him. Or, you know, not."

Danny nodded. "Anything happen?" he nodded towards the screen.

"Carson seems to be setting up his own surveillance. Looks like, anyway." He hesitated. "Listen, Rus' was going to take over for a couple of hours . . . " He let the sentence trail off. Pointedly.

"I can do it." Danny agreed. Watching the FBI wandering through the Bellagio wasn't necessarily his idea of a good time, but if it got the job done he was there.

"Thanks!" Livingston said, just a little louder than he probably intended to. They both held their breath, but Rusty, just sighed and rolled over on the sofa, sending the papers flying, and dropping the packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. The thought of taking the packet and throwing it out the window did cross Danny's mind, briefly. But mostly he just reflected that if Rusty had actually slept through that – hell, if Rusty had managed to fall asleep there in the first place – then the not-sleeping had probably been going on for a longer than usual.

Livingston sighed with relief. "I'll be back before nine." he promised, and headed out the door rapidly.

Danny shook his head in amusement, reached for the notepad and sprawled in front of the monitors, settling in for a boring couple of hours.

He heard the movement and didn't think much of it. Rusty had always been a restless sleeper. Staying still didn't come naturally to him; he could do it, of course, but Danny had always appreciated the effort that it took. So the tossing and turning was something that Danny was prepared to ignore. And he could pretend that he didn't hear the moaning when it started, and that he didn't understand the significance of the fear.

A nightmare, he told himself. Nothing that could actually hurt Rusty. And it _wasn't his problem_.

The sob though. That was a step too far. He couldn't help but turn round, and he saw the way Rusty was scrunched up on the sofa, arm covering his face, as if even in his sleep he was trying to hide the pain he was feeling.

Danny closed his eyes and wished he hadn't looked. But he couldn't do nothing. Not because of anything that he might have once felt for Rusty. Just because he couldn't ignore anyone like that. And because they needed Rusty sane and whole for the job to work.

He stood and walked over to the sofa. "Wake up." he said quietly and was surprised when Rusty didn't. Instead he muttered something that Danny couldn't catch and clenched his fingernails into his palms so tightly that Danny could see tiny specks of blood appearing on his injured hand. "Hey." Danny immediately reached out in alarm and put his hand on Rusty's wrist. "Stop it."

And then Rusty woke up, or at least opened his eyes and he saw Danny. He saw Danny and he _smiled_, that dazzling, impossible smile that no mark ever saw, and his face lit up and his eyes shone as though they were the only two people in the world. As though he'd been living in hell and Danny had not only come to save him, but had brought chocolate. It was the first time that Danny had seen him happy in four years and it was awful.

He didn't let himself respond. But he didn't look away. He kept his face blank and his eyes expressionless and he waited until he saw Rusty's smile falter before he turned away. "Livingston had to step out for a few hours. Can you keep an eye on everything until he gets back?"

"Of course." Rusty's voice was dead.

"Good." And Danny just managed to make it out of the room before he started shaking.

Because Rusty smiled at him as though his every happiness depended on Danny's whims, and he wouldn't – _couldn't_ - be responsible for that again.

* * *

**And for those of you who are probably wondering, the lines that were not written by me were the insults that Danny throws at Rusty in the first section. The 'Are you sure you're up to it' and the 'flutter your eyelashes'. I know, I know, best lines in the chapter. And again, many, many thanks. ;D**


	9. Chapter 8

**Warning, uh, ow.**

* * *

By the time that Rusty left the warehouse it was dark and he was almost satisfied with the way the shell of the vault was looking. Tomorrow he would recheck everything and they'd move on to building the interior, but in the meantime the twins apparently felt that they'd done enough for the day and had made this clear by cracking three floor tiles that he'd have to replace in the morning. And Frank had done nothing but complain all day that manual labour was ruining his cuticles. Rusty had already decided to send the three of them out to get the vans tomorrow. He suspected that their absence could only make things go easier.

Danny hadn't looked at him for two days. Not that Rusty exactly blamed him; he had a fairly good idea of just how pathetic he must have seemed. But when Danny had touched him – just a hand on his wrist, but for the first time in an eternity he'd felt safe. It had been like Danny was reaching into his dream and saving him from the bastards that were there, waiting for him, every time he closed his eyes. And just for that moment, he'd forgotten the agonising distance between them, and he'd thought that they were the same as they'd always been. That nothing had changed. He frowned; forget how pathetic it had _seemed_, that actually just _was_ pathetic. No more weaknesses, he reminded himself. No more self pity. He had to do better than this. He had to prove that he could do the job, for Danny and then afterwards . . . he shook his head in momentary confusion.

Okay. So he couldn't see an afterwards. That wasn't necessarily a problem. He'd get the job done, make sure Danny and the others were safe, then he'd walk away and never see Danny again, and he'd find some way of keeping the rest of his life busy. He grinned, and wondered if this would be any easier if he'd gone along to those rehabilitation classes. Though they probably weren't geared towards those who were intending on making a living in any of the more interesting ways. Still, something would turn up. Unless Saul was right, of course. He had no idea what he was supposed to do if Saul was right.

He locked the door to the warehouse behind him and tried not to give any hint of reaction as he heard the car parked opposite start up. The same one that had been there all day. Even though it would make the whole thing a little impossible, he kind of wished that one of the others was there. Because despite everything that he'd said; to Danny, to Saul, to Linus; this could go incredibly wrong incredibly easily.

"Good evening, Robert." He heard the car door close and turned round slowly to find Carson standing right in front of him, just that little bit too close.

"Agent Carson. I would say it's nice to see you again, but it isn't." He kept his voice calm and level but leaned back, ever so slightly, as if he was nervous and uncomfortable, looking for a way to run and trying to hide it.

Carson smiled. "Oh, don't be like that. Our little piece of business went so well last time that I was wondering if you'd like to try again."

"I'll pass, thank you." He made as though to push past Carson and was unsurprised when the man leaned forwards and restrained him, and even less surprised when Carson's jacket just happened to fall open, revealing the revolver.

"Robert, Robert, Robert." Carson shook his head. "Don't be like that. After all, we could be such good friends, you and I. And I like to do my friends favours. For instance, I've got a lot of friends in the police. And you know what cops are like, they always want to know things. Like, maybe know when someone's breaking the conditions of their parole, hmmm?"

Rusty tensed involuntarily. Or at least it looked that way.

"Or maybe you'd like to go back to jail tonight? I could arrange that for you, oh so easily." He dangled his cell phone in front of Rusty's face. "A simple choice, Robert. You come talk to me, and afterwards go back to the hotel and your . . . " He smiled cruelly. "Friends, as though nothing has happened, or else I make a phone call. What do you say."

"Fine. I'll go." He nodded jerkily at Carson.

"I'm so glad that you've decided to be reasonable." Carson smiled and ushered him into the backseat of the car.

The man driving it bore a surprising resemblance to a rhinoceros, and Rusty wondered why he'd never met an FBI agent who looked like Gillian Anderson. (And that reminded him, at some point he needed to track someone down who might have taped four years worth of 'The X Files'. Maybe Livingston . . . ?)

Carson got in beside him, and nodded to the driver.

"So, would it be stupid to ask where we're going?" Rusty asked, casually after about five minutes.

"Not at all." Carson's voice was amused and polite. "We're going to my office."

"Fine." He gave it a few more moments. "Are we there yet?" Laughter in the trenches, whistling in the dark and he wasn't afraid. Not really.

Carson shot him a puzzled look, and then as he grinned, laughed. "I like you, Robert. Such a pity."

He let his smile become fixed. Not reassuring in the slightest.

"What happened to your hand, by the way?" Carson went on blithely, staring down at it.

Rusty blinked and reflexively pulled his hand close to his chest. "I tripped. Fell against a mirror."

"Really?" Carson nodded, wide eyed. "How clumsy. You were lucky, you know. Could have easily been very nasty. So many arteries in the hand. So many tendons and little nerve endings." His eyes were shining and Rusty swallowed hard.

They didn't say anything else until the car pulled up outside a suspiciously nondescript office block. "Now," Carson said easily. "You are going to behave, aren't you? Because honestly, I'd hate it if I had to take steps."

Yeah. Rusty had the feeling that he'd hate it more. "I'll be good." he said, his voice pleasingly heavy with irony.

Carson didn't seem to notice or care. "Oh, good. That's all right then."

He was led into the building. Carson smiled and waved a security pass at the two serious-looking men sitting behind a bank of desks and screens. They didn't look in the slightest bit curious despite the fact that Carson was bringing a stranger in, well after midnight. Guy must have some reputation. Well, from everything he remembered, and everything Bobby had found out for them, he did.

The office that he was herded into was large but cramped and overflowing with files, papers and photographs. Most of them showed the casinos or Benedict, or the eleven of them. Rusty made a point of making a point of looking slowly round. He paused in front of a picture from the bar the other night. Danny and Linus laughing at him. Good to see their efforts hadn't been overlooked.

"Nice photo, isn't it." Carson's voice was right in his ear and Rusty jumped.

"I've seen better." he commented. "You ever see Cindy Sherman's work?" Its resale value was excellent.

Unsurprisingly, Carson ignored him. "They seem to be having fun, don't they? Getting along? Must be nice to see that Danny didn't go short of a playmate while you were inside."

"Yes." he said, after a pause that was a fraction of a second too long, and cleared his throat.

Carson smiled at him. "Where are my manners? Please, sit down."

He sat, on the only chair not covered with files. Carson sat on the edge of the desk and smiled pleasantly down at him. Wasn't exactly difficult for Rusty to look a little apprehensive.

"So, Robert." Carson began genially, picking up a pencil from the desk and twirling it between his fingers. "A lot's happened in the last four years. In fact, it seems as though you're the only one who hasn't moved on. Still following Danny Ocean around like a lovesick puppy. Maybe you could explain to me just how that works?"

"This is what you brought me here to talk about?" Rusty asked blankly.

"Patience, Robert, patience. We'll move on to other things. First I want to talk about you. Well, you and Danny. So, spell it out for me. You went to prison for him. Because he asked you to. Because you _love_ him." He drew out the word, delighted. "And that's, well, that's sweet. It is. Really. And tell me, was he grateful? Did he say thank you?"

"I didn't ask him to." Rusty said levelly, staring straight ahead.

"You didn't ask him to." Carson repeated slowly. "Still, I'm sure he was really, wasn't he? I mean, I know if one of my friends did something like that for me, I'd be thankful. And I'd feel guilty, and I'm sure I would visit him every week, at the very least. So, how often did Danny come and visit you, Robert? Four years, he must have made it out there at least once a month, right?"

Rusty said nothing. Carson smiled at him, and absentmindedly stuck the pencil into an electric sharpener. "How many times, Robert?"

"None." He looked down at the ground. The only sound was the high pitched whine of the pencil sharpener.

"None." Carson said with a smile. "That's right, Robert. That's right." He reached behind him and produced a file and flicked through it. "And according to this, he was on your list of approved visitors every week for . . . how long, Robert?"

"Four years." he whispered, and cursed that old weakness. He'd known that Danny would never come visit, so why had he always put his name down?

"I'm sorry?" Carson frowned innocently.

"Four years." Rusty repeated, louder.

"Four years." Carson said with relish. "The whole four years. You just don't give up, do you? Even when it's obvious that someone doesn't care about you."

"Danny does care about me." Rusty protested, hating the slight hint of desperation in his voice, but fully prepared to see it through.

"I'm sorry? I thought we just agreed that he didn't come and see you in four years." Carson smiled happily, stuck another pencil into the sharpener and then tested the point. "Ow." He sucked his finger. "But maybe prison wasn't that bad for you. Maybe you didn't find yourself missing Danny too much. After all, good-looking guy like you, I'm sure that you didn't find yourself too short of company. In fact," He looked down at the file again. "I know you didn't."

Rusty felt himself jerk in his seat as though he'd been shot. He hadn't been expecting that.

Carson smiled and leaned forwards over him and Rusty bit down on his lip hard. "Did you enjoy it?"

"What?" Rusty asked, incredulously.

"Did you enjoy it." Carson repeated.

"Fuck you." he muttered, hoarsely.

Carson was implacable. "I'll take that as a no. But it happened. Because of Danny. Because you went to prison for Danny. Now, tell me, why are you out here?"

His head snapped up. "I thought you already knew the plan?"

Carson smiled patiently. "I do. I'm asking what _you're_ doing here. When Ocean called you - after he found out that I was going to send him to prison if he didn't cooperate, because after all, that would be _terrible_, wouldn't it? – did he even ask how you were?"

Rusty paused and thought frantically while Carson patiently sharpened another pencil. "He didn't call me." he said at last. Quietly and reluctantly.

"He got someone else to do it? How . . . interesting." Carson shook his head slowly. "He couldn't even be bothered to talk to you himself. And I bet he just assumed that all he had to do was whistle and you'd come running. And you did."

He looked away and said nothing. Because it was true.

"He called and you came running, like the good, little, well-trained dog you are." Carson shook his head sadly. "Do you have any self-respect?"

Rusty frowned. "Hey." he protested, and then stopped as though he had no idea what to say next.

Carson looked bored and reached out, grabbed hold of Rusty's hand and studied the cuts on his palm. "How did you say you hurt your hand again?"

"Mirror." he said shortly and reminded himself that Carson just wanted to prove who was the boss. And he reminded himself that this too was his own choice.

"Oh, yes. Your own work, I think." He gave the words peculiar emphasis. "Very nice." Without warning he bent the fingers back, stretching the wounds painfully.

Not expecting it, Rusty had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from crying out. "What do you actually want, Harry?" he asked, and was actually a little impressed at how level his voice was, despite the pain.

"Oh, the usual. World peace, a decent steak, Terry Benedict and Danny Ocean on a plate . . . " He reached round with his free hand and produced one of the sharpened pencils. Then he bent Rusty's fingers back a little further and started tracing over the now-reopened cuts with the pencil point.

"Not going to happen." Rusty managed

"Really?" Carson smiled broadly and with a sudden movement stabbed the pencil deep into Rusty's palm and started slowly dragging it along the length of the longest cut. The blood flowed in its wake like syrup on pancakes.

Rusty could feel the spasms starting in his fingers and he flinched and fought to avoid drawing in on himself. He needed to stay focussed. "He's too clever for you." he said, and watched Carson's smile flicker and felt the pencil dig just a little bit deeper. It was grating on something deep within his hand and he actually felt the moment when the lead snapped off inside him.

"You're going to give him to me." Carson's smile had finally evolved into vicious. "You're going to give him to me or else I'm going to make sure that you go back to prison for a very, very long time. And you won't have it so easy this time." Easy. Rusty tried to suppress his shudder. The agony in his hand was throbbing along in time to his pulse. Seemed to be getting faster, too. "I have influence everywhere. Everywhere. I can make your life hell. Even more than it already is." With a sudden, final movement, he tore the pencil through the rest of Rusty's hand and both men stared at the blood that had now pooled right across his palm and was trickling down his wrist. "Oops." Carson said finally. "You'd better clean that out soon. Wouldn't want you coming down with lead poisoning."

Rusty tried and failed to even out his breathing. "Pencils are made of graphite. It's carbon, not lead. No-one ever actually got lead poisoning from a pencil."

"Really?" Carson sounded genuinely interested. "Well, well. You really do learn something new every day." He smiled sharply and reached for another pencil. "Now, are you going to think about what I said?"

He nodded sickly. "I'll think about it."

"Good." Carson's smile widened. "And remember, I can have you arrested anytime I like. So you won't be telling anyone about our little talk, will you?"

"No. I won't." And that was the truth. Because if anyone knew the details, well, things would go badly.

"That's right. You see, Robert? I told you that we could be good friends. And we'll have another one of these little chats soon, I promise." He pulled a file towards himself. "You can see yourself out, right?"

Rusty nodded and stumbled to his feet, aching hand cradled tight to his chest.

"See you later, Robert." he heard, as he staggered out the door. And then, muttered, just as the door swung shut. "Pathetic."

Yeah. Rusty was inclined to agree.

* * *

**So, um, still with me? **


	10. Chapter 9

**So, next chapter is here. And it was really difficult to write. Next one should be easier.**

* * *

Danny had never seen Tess look quite as surprised as she did when he slid into the seat opposite her. He was still convinced that none of this was a coincidence, and was even more convinced that he was doing exactly the wrong thing, but he had to see her. He just had to. And he hadn't mentioned to anyone else that Tess was in town, so there'd been no-one to look disapprovingly at him, except Linus, and the kid hadn't managed to drum up any more than a token protest. Danny didn't think for a second that Linus had put together all the variables. He wasn't seeing what was coming. Wasn't the kid's fault, it was just that, well, he wasn't Rusty.

Danny hadn't been able to look at Rusty in two days. Mind you, he was pretty sure that Rusty had also been avoiding him. Because all old, private jokes and affectionate barbs about perfectionism aside, Rusty had been giving the building of the vault just a little bit more attention than he normally would. And Danny was slightly more comfortable with the idea that Rusty was avoiding him than he was thinking that Rusty might be worried that he _wasn't_ on the top of his game. Because for one thing, that just wasn't true. Whatever was between them, Danny would acknowledge in a heartbeat that Rusty was just as brilliant as he always had been. And for another, and more importantly, that was one of the things that he'd thrown at Rusty in the bar. Carson had heard that. Danny didn't want to have handed the guy any more soft targets than was necessary. God, how he hated this plan.

He had seen Tess that afternoon, while he was listening to Linus rant about everything that Benedict had been doing for the past thirty six hours. Which, as it turned out, included having lunch with Danny's wife. Ex-wife. Seemingly she'd been in town for the past few days, sent by the gallery to negotiate selling Benedict some art. And Benedict was taking rather more pleasure in her company than Danny was altogether happy with. Mind you, Linus had said something about seeing Tess being 'the best part of his day'. Though, after he'd looked round to see that Danny had successfully disappeared off the face of the earth, Linus had managed to figure that he knew Tess and had offered a strangely stammered apology. Which, despite not having been in the slightest bit offended, Danny had accepted in exchange for Linus keeping his mouth shut about Tess.

Oh, he knew perfectly well that there was no way that Tess being here was a coincidence. A couple of questions and actually listening when Linus started telling him about Benedict's sudden interest in art, and he'd heard about the rumours of the multimillion dollar deal to reinvigorate the art collection at the Flamingo, about the mysterious appearance of several appointments in Benedict's diary, and about the fact that a top gallery in New York had seemingly been paid a massive amount in advance to send someone down. Just the sort of thing that could be arranged by a particularly twisted FBI agent with seemingly infinite amounts of time and resources.

Danny guessed that Carson had figured that he couldn't rely on the threats against Danny's friends to control him. And that hurt a little. Because he'd always thought of himself as loyal before everything else.

"Hello, Tess." he said, as he sat down opposite her, and watched as she dropped her novel.

"Danny." She stared at him in what he'd charitably consider shock though horror might be closer.

"Were you expecting someone else?" He watched her carefully. "Benedict, maybe?"

Her lips thinned. Fair enough, he could have handled that better. "The jealous ex husband bit doesn't suit you. And no, I'm on my own."

He sighed, and looked at her sincerely. "Benedict is bad news." he told her, truthfully.

Her eyes softened slightly. "I'm here on business, Danny. We had one lunch together and spent most of it talking about Monet."

Danny frowned. "Was he – "

" – The one who married his mistress." She sighed. "Yes. What are you doing here?"

He smiled. "Oh, you know. Just in town. Saw you across the restaurant and figured I'd say hi."

"Don't give me that." Her eyes narrowed. "I know you. You're pulling a job, aren't you?"

"Just killing time and wasting money." he said quickly as the waiter came by. "How're you doing? Whiskey and a whiskey."

Tess glared at him and smiled at the waiter. "Yes, the Chateau Haut Batailley please."

"And two glasses." Danny added. He opened the menu. "And I think I'll have the sea bass." He resisted the urge to look across at the desserts.

"Caesar salad." Tess said, still glaring at him. The waiter, apparently sensing the tension just nodded and glided away. "You should leave."

"You look good." he said quietly. It was the truth. He'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was in the ache of everything else that he missed about her so much.

"You look like trouble." she said, bluntly and he sighed.

"Listen, I just . . . you need to be careful." If he wasn't going to get anywhere, then he at least owed her a warning. "Carson, the guy who tried to arrest me is hanging around and – "

" – you're doing something that means you might get arrested." she finished with a scowl, slightly missing the point.

"Just be careful." he said firmly. "Please. He's planning something and I don't think you being here is a coincidence."

"I'm here on business, Danny." she emphasised. "Some of us have normal jobs that don't involve danger and conspiracies."

Danny took a deep breath. "Selling insurance didn't suit me."

Surprisingly there was a long pause. "I know." Tess said softly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." he said and was surprised to find that for the first time he meant it. "I miss you."

She looked down at the table for a long time and when she looked up she was smiling in a way he hadn't seen for such a very long time. "I missed you too, Danny."

He smiled at her. "How about we just eat our food and talk like we used to. Okay?"

"Okay." She nodded and the food arrived and for a while everything was the way it had been and it was good.

* * *

Three hours later Danny lay back on Tess' bed and watched as she reached for her underwear. "This was a mistake." she said simply.

"Yeah." he agreed. Of course it was.

She looked offended and he reflected that possibly it had been a little ungallant of him to agree so quickly. "It was nice though." she said, as if daring him to disagree.

"It was great." It was always great. They'd always been good together.

She ignored him. "But I need to move on. I love you but I can't be with you."

Danny blinked. "You think I don't want to move on?"

"Oh, because you're so good at that." She actually laughed a little, and Danny wondered if she thought he'd been pining for her for the past year. Maybe he had been, a little. But there'd always been other things on his mind; his world hadn't stopped.

"I told you," he said patiently. "I was in town, I saw you – "

" – Not what I'm talking about, Danny." she interrupted.

"What?" He didn't get it.

"Four years ago."

Ah. "So I found it difficult to adjust to changing my career. It's not a cri . . . " he trailed off hastily. "It's not unusual."

She stared at him intently. "I know you Danny. You can't lie to me."

"What?" he asked again.

"It was never about the job. It was about Rusty."

"No. It wasn't." he said immediately and his voice was just the slightest bit unsteady. It had been the job. All the job. Almost all the job.

He sighed. Some of it had to have been the job, but the job had always meant Rusty anyway. Even now.

Tess stared at him. "Danny. What's happened?"

He considered the merits of getting dressed and just running out of her hotel room. Because this wasn't something he should be discussing. Not here. Not with Tess. Probably not at all.

"What?" she asked, gently, and the trouble was, talking to her had always made him feel better.

"He's out." he said, very quietly, not looking at her.

"Out of prison?" She sounded astonished. "I thought he got . . . "

"Parole." Danny said succinctly. "Good behaviour." And since he was involved in planning a major crime within a fortnight of being released, and had almost certainly scammed his way into the hotel he'd been staying in, Rusty's parole board had clearly been worthless in any conventional sense. (_Thank you, God._)

He could feel Tess staring at him. "Tell me that he's not involved in anything."

"Tess." He shrugged in a way that was supposed to convey that he neither knew or cared. It was less than effective, he could tell.

"Tell me what's wrong." she asked, in that same gentle tone.

"Everything's changed." he said, helplessly and he didn't know if he meant Tess or Rusty or himself.

There was silence for a long moment. "You should have gone to see him." She said at last, and he winced at the accusation. "Or written, or something. You know I would never have objected to that."

"I know. It wasn't about you." And it wasn't. If he'd wanted to see Rusty, he would never have let Tess stop him.

"But you've seen him now." she said and he looked up sharply at the hope in her voice. "You're back together."

Carson's insinuations were still lingering in his mind, and the wine was enough to stop him from censoring his thought in time. "I never slept with Rusty!"

Tess definitely hadn't been expecting that. "What?" Her voice was sharp and incredulous, before she shook her head in bewildered amusement. "Jesus, Danny, thank you for the mental image."

"Sorry." He grimaced and made a stab at an explanation. "Someone said . . . never mind."

Tess shook her head again. "Look, I just meant that I know you. I know both of you. Before, when he used to go away on all those business trips" She frowned suddenly. "Those weren't business trips were they?" Danny shook his head, because of course they weren't in the way she meant. She nodded and carried on. "You'd get bored and restless. And it was the same after he went away."

Danny didn't care for euphemisms. "Went to prison, Tess."

"Fine." She glared at him. "But you missed him. You do miss him."

"I've seen him. I don't miss him. Never did." And that was the truth, though no-one ever believed him. 'Missing' was what he'd felt for Tess the first time. And this time, come to that. It was feeling angry and upset and betrayed all at once. It was feeling as though the world had been pulled away from under your feet and that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

And it was far too weak a word for what he'd felt when he'd lost Rusty. For what he still felt when he stood in the same room as Rusty and didn't automatically _know_ that he was there.

"Really." Tess didn't understand, of course, and he definitely wasn't going to try and explain it. That would be unwise.

"I don't miss him." he repeated, simply and truthfully. "He made his choice, I made mine. And we both have to live with ourselves."

"Then why are you so upset?" She asked.

"Because he's here." Danny said simply. This urge to tell the truth only ever seemed to come out when Tess was around. And Rusty had never needed him to tell the truth to know it.

"Then leave." she suggested.

"Can't." He shrugged.

"Because you're pulling a job." she said with a kind of weary resignation.

"I don't have a choice." he told her, helplessly.

She frowned at him. "What?"

"Long story." And he really didn't want to get into it. Then something struck him for the first time. "_He_ has a choice." he said, in wonderment. "He has a choice and he's here because I asked him."

"Of course he is." And Tess said that like she couldn't even imagine that Rusty might have chose differently.

"But don't you see? He shouldn't be. He went to prison for me, Tess." He'd never told her that. He'd left her to assume, like everyone else, that Rusty had actually done the crime that he went away for. "He set himself up so that I got away scott-free and he went to prison."

Tess hesitated. Danny barely noticed. " . . . Really?"

"Yes. And how am I supposed to live with that? I've seen what it's done to him" He closed his eyes. "Hell, I knew what it was going to do the minute I saw him sitting there in handcuffs."

"What did it do to him?" Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"He's so _thin_." The words came tumbling out and Danny had no power to stop them. "And he's . . . it's like he's not always there. Like he's fading back into the shadows right in front of my eyes. He went to prison for me, Tess. He knew damn well what would happen and he did it anyway." He shook his head frantically. "I can't be responsible anymore. I can't risk hurting him anymore and I know that he'd do the same thing again without even stopping to ask himself why he should."

"I'm sorry." She said it so quietly that he didn't really hear her.

"And he's smoking again. And his hand. I think he . . . " He couldn't bear to finish that sentence. Because if he said it out loud then it was real.

There was a long silence.

"Danny." He looked up. Tess had tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Why?" He tried to smile. "It's not your fault."

Her hand flew to her mouth and she looked down at the ground and frantically shook her head.

Danny's breath caught. "What did you do?"

She looked up at him quickly and the tears were trailing down her cheeks now. "I didn't think that it would be for so long. And I never thought it would hurt you so much."

No. No, he was misunderstanding. Couldn't be. "_What did you do_?"

"I called him, when we broke up." She swallowed and looked away from him. "We met, a couple of times. I more or less told him that I'd take you back as long as you weren't in prison. I asked him to take care of it."

"What?" But he knew and he understood. And maybe it hadn't made a difference and maybe it had, but his wife and his best friend had conspired to destroy everything that mattered most to him.

"I was scared, Danny." She reached out a hand to him and he moved away quickly. "I missed you, and I thought that I was pregnant and it just seemed so easy."

"So you just asked him if he minded going to prison in my place?" He hardly recognised the sound of his own voice.

"No!" Tess protested, horrified. "God, no. But when he said that someone was going to prison anyway . . . and I made him think there was a baby."

"And you knew there wasn't." he said because he heard the guilt in her voice.

She shook her head helplessly. "I'm sorry, Danny." But he couldn't look at her anymore and he got dressed, mechanically. "Danny? Danny, I'm sorry."

He looked at her one last time. And he could still hear her crying as he walked out the door.

There was someone he needed to talk to. And it wasn't going to be pretty.

* * *

**Warning: Sleeping with your ex is nearly always a bad idea.**

**Oh, and just to make clear - this was all set at pretty much exactly the same time as the previous chapter.**


	11. Chapter 10

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, Danny vaguely realised as he banged on Rusty's door. And if he wasn't quite so busy being angry he might have felt guilty, or embarrassed at the very least. But there was no chance that this could wait till morning. This he had to hear about now.

Just as he was about to try hammering again, Yen threw the door open with an impressive string of expletives.

"Uh, I was looking for Rusty." Danny said, caught entirely off guard.

"He's in here." Turk yelled, unseen from inside the room.

Virgil's voice immediately leapt in. "Don't say that, you should have asked if he wanted to – "

" – What am I, his secretary?" Turk demanded.

"Well, you have the legs for it, sweetheart." Virgil again.

"At least I don't know shorthand, honey." And Turk. Didn't anyone in this outfit ever sleep?

"Guys." And that was Rusty's voice. Danny had been beginning to wonder.

Yen glared at Danny again, then over his shoulder, presumably at the Malloys and stepped aside and let Danny into the room.

The first thing that Danny saw was what looked like every single champagne glass in the hotel, lying on a broken pile on the floor and Turk and Virgil industriously clearing them up. Rusty was lying back on the sofa, his hand wrapped in a bloodstained towel.

Okay. Maybe the argument could wait, just a little.

"What happened?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

"Well, Yen was going to show me this magic trick." Turk began.

Predictably Virgil immediately interrupted. "Except he got it wrong and knocked everything over."

"Only because you said that I was doing it wrong."

"You _were_ doing it wrong."

"And Rusty was standing in the wrong place and got cut." Danny resisted the urge to close his eyes and bang his head against the nearest wall.

Instead he frowned innocently. "Why were you doing it in his room in the first place?"

The twins looked blank. Rusty shrugged. "Actually, I was wondering that myself." Danny casually searched his face, but there was no sign of guilt or even the slightest hint of discomfort. Natural born liar.

And that was enough. In fact that was several stages more than enough. He stared pointedly at Rusty. "We need to talk."

"Okay." Rusty said, calmly and as if he had no idea what was coming.

Danny heard the others shifting uncomfortably behind him. "You should go." he said, without turning round.

The Malloys' relief was obvious and immediate. "Great, I've got to wash the dog – "

" – bury the cat."

Danny did his best not to react, but he saw Rusty's lips twitching ever so slightly.

The twins practically ran out the door, but Yen lingered and threw an urgent question at Rusty.

"Shouldn't think so. Don't worry about it." Rusty smiled reassuringly.

Yen nodded then stared at Danny for a long moment before saying something in a low tone of voice that, even though he didn't understand, Danny recognised as a threat. Then he left, shutting the door gently behind him.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Winning friends and influencing people?"

Rusty smiled. "Turns out my charms are as good as ever."

First point to Rusty and Danny managed to avoid wincing. On the outside, anyway. He stared at Rusty's hand. "So how was your evening?" he asked pointedly. It wasn't the argument that he'd come in, intending to have, but they had to start somewhere.

"It was an accident, Danny." Rusty said, wearily and Danny wondered how Rusty could expect him to believe that for a minute.

"Because you've always been so clumsy." he said, sarcastically.

"What do you want, Danny?" Rusty asked with just a touch of deflective anger in his voice.

"I saw Tess tonight."

Rusty closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa. "Shit."

"No kidding." he agreed bitterly. "How could you do that?"

"It was really easy, actually." Rusty sighed. "Look, if Tess is in town – "

Danny interrupted. " – Of course it isn't a coincidence. And yeah, I shouldn't have gone to see her – "

" – You're handing Carson ammunition." Rusty went on." And I don't know about you but – "

" – but I'm glad I did because – "

" – I think he has enough already."

" – there are some things that I have a right to know."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Rusty moved the towel off his hand and grimaced.

"Do you need the Emergency Room?" Danny asked calmly.

"Probably." Rusty admitted quietly. "But I'm going to wait until the morning."

In the morning he'd be able to go to Reuben's doctor and get done whatever needed to be done. Danny could understand the temptation of not heading over to the hospital on Vegas on a Friday night. With a sigh he walked over and looked down. His eyes widened. Rusty's hand looked like it had been ripped open. Beneath the blood he could see flesh laid bare. He swallowed hard and tried not to think about what it said that Rusty was able to do that to himself.

"It was an accident, Danny." Rusty promised him, and Danny wondered how in the world he was expected to believe that. "Ask Turk and Virgil. Or Yen. They all saw."

Yeah. Three of the people who Rusty had a hope in hell of convincing that was the case. "I'm surprised you didn't get Linus to be a witness too."

"He already thinks I'm clumsy." Rusty grinned but it was nowhere near reaching his eyes and Danny could see the pain and the misery. Simple fact was, somewhere along the way, Rusty had got too lost for him to ever be able to find his way back.

And suddenly Danny felt exhausted and he had no idea whether to laugh or cry at the very idea of Rusty – the most graceful human being he'd ever known – ever being clumsy. "Sometimes he's not so observant. I could talk to him."

"Don't." Rusty said quickly. "I'd rather he believed that than he thought what you're thinking."

"Because it was an accident?" Danny asked slowly.

"Yeah." Rusty said simply. There was a pause. "Tess told you everything?"

"God, I hope so." he said, too tired now, too defeated to even try to fight. "You and her set everything up between you."

"Wasn't quite like that." Rusty protested. "But yes."

"She asked and you said yes." Danny said bluntly.

Rusty shrugged. "She didn't exactly ask. And I – "

" – Would have done it anyway." Danny sighed. "I know."

"So you shouldn't blame her." And Danny wondered in what possible universe _that_ was the point?

"She told me about the baby thing too. She – "

" – played me like a ten dollar whore." They both winced at the simile and Rusty cleared his throat. "Think your wife is in the wrong profession. She'd have made a great con artist."

Danny's eyes narrowed and he could feel the cold fury rising again. "You think this is funny?"

"Maybe a little." Rusty shrugged. "If your tastes run to irony."

"You betrayed me." Danny said very, very quietly. "You and Tess together. Don't even pretend that you didn't know what you were doing. Did you think it wouldn't hurt me?"

Rusty stood up and faced him. "You're the one who left."

"I wasn't going to watch you destroy yourself." He couldn't have. Not for him.

"I understand." And Rusty's voice was quiet, but Danny suddenly realised for the first time that he didn't understand. Not really. Not anymore.

"I hate you." he said softly, turning away and ignoring the stinging in his eyes.

There was a long silence. "No. You don't." And the sheer, naked astonishment in Rusty's voice was agony.

Danny waited for a long, long moment, his heart cold in his chest, desperately trying to convince himself that he could be cruel to be kind. But he couldn't leave it that way. "Never have, never will." he agreed turning back round and Rusty was staring at him and that too was painful.

"I never meant to make your life harder." Rusty said, after a pause. "I should have said no, when Frank called."

"Then me and the others would have wound up in prison." Danny pointed out, knowing that Rusty never could have. And that was the problem right there. He collapsed onto the sofa, and after a moment Rusty joined him.

"You would have thought of something." Rusty said, dismissively, and Danny had to make him see _that_ at least.

"No. I wouldn't." he said levelly, truthfully and emphatically. "We would all have gone to prison. This wouldn't work without you. You saved us. And I know that you don't need to be here."

Rusty looked startled. "I couldn't – "

" – I know." Danny smiled, ever so slightly. "I just wish you could."

Rusty shook his head uncertainly and said nothing.

Danny sighed. "If you weren't here we'd never be able to get the Benedict job done. Let alone fix Carson to . . . " He trailed off. Because Rusty had winced. And maybe no-one else would have noticed, but no matter how much emptiness there was between them, Danny wasn't just anyone. "Carson?" he asked carefully.

"Tonight." Rusty admitted.

"And you didn't call?" Danny demanded.

"Nothing that couldn't keep. He bought it." But Rusty wouldn't meet his eyes.

He bought it. And Rusty had wound up bleeding. "Bad?"

Rusty smiled and apparently unconsciously flexed his fingers. "He likes the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?"

"If it's that bad - " Danny began.

" – I can handle it." Rusty protested. "He's just talk. I've dealt with worse."

Yeah. Danny knew he had. But Carson was good at talking, and if he was getting that close, scouring too many nerves raw . . . four years ago, Danny knew exactly what Rusty could take and would have stepped in long before they were anywhere near that point. And even now he could hear the lie in Rusty's voice. "Rus' . . . "

"This changes nothing." Rusty said in a voice made of steel. "I'm not sorry. You don't forgive me. And after this job is done we never see each other again."

Danny stared at him for a long moment and Rusty matched him look for look. "Fine." Danny said finally and felt a little like dying.

"Good." Rusty said, and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cigarettes.

It took far too much damned effort for Danny to keep his face neutral. "So, Carson bought it?" he asked instead.

Rusty nodded. "Hook line and sinker. We're on."

Somehow that made a lousy silver lining. He cleared his throat. "Does Saul know about . . . ?" he nodded at Rusty's hand.

"Not yet." And Danny could hear the unspoken request. Yeah. He wouldn't wake Saul up. After all, at this point he'd be just as pissed now as in the morning.

"First aid kit?" he asked instead.

Rusty shrugged. "Livingston's – "

" – I'll go and get it." Danny promised.

If he wasn't allowed to care, he could still do what he could. And hopefully that involved sneaking in and out of the room without waking Livingston. And it involved wrapping Rusty's hand up, getting rid of every single piece of sharp glass from the floor, sitting up with him all night and dragging him to the doctor in the morning. Everything in his power. Except caring.

* * *

**I know, I know. Short chapter. But that's where the break was, so sue me. Actually, please don't.**


	12. Chapter 11

**And we've finally moved on from the previous night. **

* * *

Pizza was the order of the day, now that the vault was finally built. Thankfully. The last few days had almost been enough to make Linus wish that he'd taken shop in high school.

"Don't get sauce on the paintwork," Basher advised him, through a mouthful of crust. "Rus'll murder you."

Linus looked round vaguely. "Where is he?"

Livingston nodded. "Yeah, would have expected him to be here. Now that there's food."

Basher grimaced. "He stepped out for a ciggie, and Saul cornered him."

Frank shook his head. "Man. Wouldn't like to be him right now."

It had been noticeable that Rusty had been trying to avoid Saul all day. "What's going on there?" Linus asked, curious. "Why's Rusty dodging Saul?"

"Do you want to talk to your dad when you've fucked up?" Frank asked, and Linus spluttered.

Yen beat him to the question. At least, Linus thought that he did. It could have been a request for another piece of pepperoni for all he knew. He really had to get better at this.

Livingston shook his head at Yen. "No, of course he isn't. Not really."

"Try telling Saul that," Basher said, shaking his head. "Do you remember the Whitstable job?"

There was a general groan of agreement from Frank and Livingston. The twins briefly stopped throwing anchovies at each other and Virgil added "Or that thing in Cincinnati."

"You're thinking of Wichita," Turk corrected.

"No, Cincinnati," Virgil insisted. "Wichita was where Danny got mugged for the giant magnet."

"Wasn't that Denver?" Livingston asked with a startled expression.

Linus felt very much the odd man out. "But what's Rusty done, anyway?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence. At least he wasn't the only one confused. The twins looked equally puzzled.

"Who knows?" Frank said finally, lightly. "It's Saul. He doesn't always need a reason."

"Least Saul is taking care of it," Basher said in a hopeful voice.

Livingston shook his head slowly. "Should be Danny., he muttered.

"Oh, come on," Frank protested. "You can't blame him."

"Why not?" Livingston asked sharply.

Just as he was about to give up and try demanding an explanation, his cell phone started ringing. He looked down at the caller display and sighed. Wishing that he had the guts to ignore it, he walked to the other end of the warehouse. "Hi, Dad."

"Linus. I'm just calling for an update. Since none of you seem to be able to pick up a phone." That was odd. He knew that Danny and his dad had used to be close, and Dad had previously complained that _neither_ of them ever called. Maybe he was including Saul, though why Saul would call Dad was beyond him.

"Everything's going fine. We've finished construction," he said, hoping that would be enough to stave off any more questions.

"That's good." Wonder of wonders, Dad's voice sounded almost approving. "And Carson?"

"I'm not too involved in that," Linus admitted. "Danny and Rusty are mostly – "

" – They're talking now? Properly, I mean," Dad asked in surprise, and Linus frowned because as far as he could see they'd never exactly not been talking.

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged in the full knowledge that his dad couldn't see him.

"That's good," Dad sounded relieved. "Listen, I've got access to a few more of those inquiry reports, and looks like it's even worse than we thought."

There was never an elegant way to admit to his dad that he had no idea what he was talking about. "Huh?"

Dad sighed in frustration. "Linus."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately and in equal frustration. "I just don't know what you mean."

"Carson," Dad said, with exaggerated patience. "About what I told you."

"I don't remember any major Carson related advice," Linus pointed out. And he would have remembered.

Dad paused. "I told Rusty."

And that wasn't the same as telling them. "Well, maybe he forgot to pass it on."

There was a longer pause. "Anyway, Carson's got a reputation. Apparently suspects in his care have a habit of falling down the stairs. He's had nineteen internal inquiries launched against him for use of excessive force and questionable methods."

"Right," Linus said. That really wasn't good news.

"And there's a rumour that he boasts about the time that he managed to push a guy into hanging himself in his cell just by talking."

"Jesus," That was just creepy.

"Rusty really didn't say?" Dad asked after a second.

"No," Linus answered immediately. Like he wouldn't have remembered.

"Shit," Dad said calmly.

"Yeah. I should talk to Danny." They couldn't afford this kind of screw up.

"How is Rusty anyway?" Dad said with a deceptive casualness. "He sounded . . . off on the phone."

Linus hesitated. "He seems fine. I don't really get what's so great about him though."

There was a slight pause and then Dad laughed shortly. "Look harder," he advised. "Because he and Danny are the best and if you want to learn . . . "

Linus scowled and reminded himself that he didn't need to follow his dad's advice anymore.

Dad paused, his mind clearly still on Carson. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Dad," Linus protested. Honestly, he was an adult now.

"Promise me." Dad was implacable.

Linus sighed. "I promise."

"Thank you," Dad said quietly and then cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Oh. Your mother asked me to tell you." There was a pause, and Linus would swear he could hear the sound of shuffling feet. "Asked me to tell you that we love you."

"Thanks, Dad," Linus smiled, and quickly said "You too," and hung up.

He stood for a moment and stared at the wall and thought about Rusty's hand and about how everyone had made such a point of saying it was an accident. _'Suspects in his care have a habit of falling down the stairs.' _He had to wonder. But if that was the case and people _knew_ . . . Then, well, he just didn't know what to think. Maybe he should have said something to Dad.

* * *

Danny was glad that he was the one driving. It gave him a good excuse to avoid looking at Reuben. On the other hand, if Reuben was driving then presumably Reuben wouldn't be staring at him like that and the whole situation would be feeling a lot less fraught.

"You think Denny'll do his part?" he asked eventually, for something to say.

Reuben stared at him some more. "Me and Denny go way back. You and Denny go way back. And Saul, and Rusty. You know Denny's more than up for it."

"I know," Danny kept his eyes on the road. "I just – "

Reuben didn't let him finish. Just as well, he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say. " – What, you just thought you'd try and distract me? Start some conversation about Denny Shields so that we don't talk about what you're doing?"

"I'm not doing anything, Reuben," he said, with exaggerated patience.

"That I'd noticed. That we've all noticed." And Reuben's tone was severe and knowing and sympathetic all at once, and why did no-one ever believe him when he said that he and Rusty were done?

He sighed. "Did Saul put you up to this?" Rusty hadn't wanted to tell Saul in the morning either, and Danny had agreed under the condition that they headed round to the doctors before breakfast. (Fourteen stitches, and Rusty had told Danny to wait outside, and Danny _had_, and he didn't even know which was more wrong, and Rusty hadn't even been going to bother getting the painkiller prescription filled, but Danny had forged his signature, and he knew, just knew, that Rusty was never going to take them because he said they stopped him thinking, and now that he thought about it he wasn't completely convinced that it was a good idea to have left Rusty with that many pills except that Danny still couldn't – wouldn't – believe that Rusty would ever do that, even if he could hurt himself, (_oh god_), and now Reuben wanted to talk to him? Danny didn't even want to talk to himself.)

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Reuben shaking his head. "Saul's going out of his mind. What do you think?"

"There's nothing I can do." There wasn't. They had a truce, or a deal or something, but there was the emptiness and he couldn't be the one to cross it. Too much time.

"You mean there's nothing you will do." Reuben sounded frustrated. Almost angry. And Danny already knew that he could no more explain this decision in a way that he'd understand than Rusty could explain the one that had brought them to this in the first place. But he couldn't let Rusty into his life again because there would be consequences, and it wasn't only himself he was protecting.

"What makes you think I can save him?" And that was the other problem. Because he didn't even know how to go about getting Rusty back to what he had been. Maybe there was no way back.

"So you admit he needs to be saved." Reuben sounded triumphant, and honestly, that was obvious.

"There's nothing I can do," he repeated, weary beyond measure. Rusty had made it absolutely clear that he didn't want Danny's help. And it was only the ache of old instincts that made him want to grab Rusty and run, away from the job, away from everything that hurt him, away from everything that was beginning to destroy him from the inside out. Impossible, besides.

"You got to start thinking, Danny," Reuben said, so quietly that Danny had to strain to listen. "Because it's not just about you. Time was you knew what was important. What was worth everything."

Danny stared out at the road and the lights and the desert and thought of nothing. And everything. And there was silence.

* * *

Disappointing Saul had never been numbered in any list of Rusty's favourite things to do. And the way Saul was looking at him now, well, it hurt. Of course it hurt. But it was for the best. Because if Saul understood what he'd really done – what had been done to him - he wouldn't just be disappointed. It would be anger and not just at him, and he couldn't see a way that the plan – and therefore Saul and the others – would survive that kind of interference. Wasn't like the pencil had felt anything like the worst of it. He'd told Danny the truth; and words, when they were true could be as painful as any tangible damage. And . . . and if Carson hadn't, then afterwards he _might have_. He hadn't, but Saul's disappointment hurt just the same.

Simple truth was that he hadn't really been expecting the whole hand and pencil deal – he'd listened to Bobby, but he'd been expecting to just be beat up a little. Hell, he'd already had plans of how to hide that, and it hadn't involved leaving everyone thinking that he'd fucked up again, and it had never involved Saul standing there, looking like someone had died. Still, it changed nothing. He could make this plan work. He had to; he had nothing else.

His cigarette had burned itself out long ago. He'd followed Danny and Reuben outside and hadn't realised that Saul was following _him_ and now they were standing in a deserted alleyway and neither of them seemed able to speak.

"Why didn't you come talk to me?" Saul asked at long last, despair in his voice.

Rusty couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want an apology, Rusty." Saul's voice was low and desperate. "I want to know how we can fix this."

Maybe he didn't need fixed. Did anyone ever think of that? He was doing okay. He was functioning. Most of the time. He bit his lip and said nothing.

"I think you need to see someone," Saul went on. "A shrink, or something."

"Saul, we're in the middle of a job," he pointed out and then hesitated. "Is this the point where you tell me that I'm out?"

"No!" Saul stared sharply at him. "No-one's saying that. No-one's even thinking that."

"Because you want to keep an eye on me?" he asked, bitterly.

Saul sighed. "What do you want to hear? That we're keeping you around because we need you? Because it's true. That we're keeping you around because we're afraid for you? That's true too. There are a lot of people here who care about you, Rusty."

He considered that for a long moment. "I'm doing okay."

Saul was still staring at him. "You're really, really not. Look, if it was dealing with Carson, if that was . . . too much, we can change the plan."

"Got something just as good to replace the Verbal with? Because I don't." He wasn't going to let them throw their lives away just for this.

"We can think of something else," Saul said patiently and untruthfully.

"It's not your call. And Danny and Linus are both with me." He'd made sure of that. Even if Danny maybe did hate him for it, just a little bit.

"Linus wouldn't be if I explained." That was true. But a low blow.

"You wouldn't do that," he said, as sure of that as he was of anything.

Saul sighed and acknowledged the point. "I wouldn't do that."

"The Verbal works," Rusty offered persuasively, after a few minutes. "It's playing right to his weaknesses."

"By giving him yours." And Saul's voice was sharp and he really was worried about this and Rusty just couldn't bring himself to lie and promise that everything was going to be all right.

He shrugged and said lightly. "Win some, lose some."

Saul definitely didn't see the funny side. "You ever say that again . . . " He trailed off.

"You'll what?" Rusty asked curiously. Saul's empty threats tended to be inspired.

"I don't even know." He sighed heavily and suddenly looked so very old. "Rusty, I want you to promise me something."

"What?" he asked quietly, just a little too wary to promise blindly.

Saul was looking at him like _that_ again, and Rusty remembered that yes, there were people who cared about him. "Promise me that if you start feeling that way again, you'll go find someone. I'm not asking you to talk, I'm not even insisting that it's me, though you have to know that anytime you need me I'm there. But just promise that you won't let yourself be alone."

He tried to smile. "You're overreacting."

"You promised it wouldn't happen again." Saul carried on looking at him, and Rusty almost couldn't bear what he saw.

"I'm sorry," he said, helplessly.

"Promise me." Saul ordered.

"Yes," he said, and it was almost like Saul could see straight through him.

Still, Saul didn't look away. "Say it. Please."

"I promise," he whispered.

"Thank you." Saul sighed and finally turned away.

"Saul..." He stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say. Saul turned back round and looked at him enquiringly. "I really am sorry," he blurted out, at last.

Saul sighed and stepped closer and rested his hand on Rusty's shoulder for a long moment. "I'd give anything to make things right," he said, quietly.

There was nothing that Rusty had seen in the past four years to convince him that things could ever be made right. But he smiled and pretended to believe.

* * *

**So, what do you think? Seriously. **


	13. Chapter 12

**Sorry that this took a little longer than usual. But honestly, if it isn't a month between updates then it's quick for me.**

* * *

Terry was nothing at all like Danny. And perhaps that was what she liked best about him. He was charming in a far quieter way. Just as intelligent of course, but intense where Danny was dazzling. Constant where he was mercurial. Courteous where Danny was witty. And he was also the first man that she'd found attractive since the divorce.

He listened, with apparent fascination, to her talking about art and he understood and made quiet and sensible observations of his own. She'd never have to listen to him making jokes about Monet and Manet, and she stifled the small voice that told her that that was because he didn't have any sense of humour. And she listened to him talking about his hotels and about the effort that he put in every day to make them the best in town – in the world – and she heard the passion in his voice and it pleased her.

Danny had never talked about his work. He was the most passionately alive man she'd ever known, and of course he brought that to every area of his life but he'd never been able to share his work with her and a part of her wondered what he was like when he was on a job. The rest of her knew. The memory of a thousand times when he'd come in, more alive, more there, more _himself_ than she could possibly understand and over the past four years she'd come to realise that those times – those impossible times of irresistible charm and laughter and mindblowing sex – had been because he was busy stealing things. And that was a little difficult to forgive and harder still to forget. She remembered too, half-spoken conversations she'd overheard between Danny and Rusty, (_always Rusty_) them talking about things that she'd never understood, and how the word 'impossible' when they'd used it had sounded identical to 'I dare you'. There was a tiny part of her that wondered if she could have ever learned to accept what he did and love every part of him. But if she was completely honest with herself, their relationship had been doomed from the moment Rusty had gone to prison.

It wasn't that there had been three people in her marriage. Rusty had always seemed happy to give them their space, and however reluctant he'd sometimes seemed to be, Danny had let him. But she'd known from the first time that she met them – because she'd met _them_, not just Danny, and she did understand some of what that meant – and had listened to them doubletalk their way through an explanation of the plot of Star Wars, sprinkled with extraneous details and outrageous anecdotes of which she'd later learn that only the most unlikely were true, she'd realised then that in every important way they came as a set. And so she'd set herself the task of getting Rusty to like her.

And she'd put up with a lot, not just from them but from her friends and acquaintances who saw the way they were with each other and exchanged gleeful whispers and gave her pitying looks. Danny's little outburst wasn't the first time she'd heard it said and she'd never once thought it. She knew them.

But she remembered the way that her colleagues had looked at her during the Martinez opening, back when she'd been working at Renee's gallery, long before she'd married Danny. And even though she'd been angry, she'd understood that it wasn't their fault. Not really. She'd called on Danny for moral support and he'd called on Rusty (_and she wondered who Rusty called on_) and she'd had a long talk with them in the car beforehand about not causing any scenes, and she knew that they'd tried. It was just that she also knew that together they were magnets for every kind of weirdness going. They walked into trouble with an amused smile on their faces, and their chosen career should never have come as a shock to her. But she did understand their desire to hide from the slightly-less-than-charming sculptor whose voice said that Rusty would make a perfect model and whose eyes, and on one occasion hands, said something else altogether. And she'd understood about the canapés and the ice statue and the champagne corks. With hindsight she even understood the disconnected security system, though she'd never thought of laying that at their door at the time. She understood it all, and what she understood most was that there was no point in trying to separate them. And yet that's what she'd succeeded in doing.

She'd finally seen Rusty earlier that day. She'd been looking ever since she talked to Danny, though she honestly wasn't sure why. Guilt, maybe. Wanting to see just what the cost of her – their – actions was. Or perhaps she wanted to talk to him, see if she could find some way to fix Danny and him. Whatever it was, she'd been keeping her eyes open. She'd finally caught up with him in one of the hotel lifts. He'd stepped inside, and she'd been in the lobby, heading out, but she'd ended up chasing him anyway and she'd found herself in the strange position of being alone in a lift with a man who had every reason to hate her.

It had taken a long moment of careful scrutiny before she was finally able to accept that, yes, her first impression had been correct and this was Rusty. Somehow, in spite of everything that Danny had said, she'd expected the same perpetually light-hearted, outrageously beautiful man that she remembered. And she could tell from his expression that she had been completely unsuccessful at hiding her shock.

He was so _thin_. Danny had said, but she just hadn't been prepared. And he looked older. Not aged, so much, more as if life had turned out to be not nearly so full of wonder as he'd once thought. And the inner joy that had always seemed to shine through his skin, illuminating him as if to say that _this_ was what it meant to be alive, that had almost entirely faded. The changes choked her up inside.

"Hi." she said awkwardly.

"Hi." He looked at her carefully, as though he had no idea what she was doing. Well, that made two of them. He reached out and pressed the button for the twelfth floor and she found herself staring at the bandages on his hand and trying not to think of what Danny had said. "Which floor?"

"That's fine." she said quickly and as he shot her a sardonic look she realised that he almost certainly knew her room number. "What happened to your hand?" she asked, largely involuntarily.

"Fell into some broken glass." he said, looking at her thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry." she said abruptly, and hoped that he would realise that she meant for four years ago. For everything.

He smiled and it was just as careless and charming as ever, and that hurt a little. "It wasn't your fault."

"Danny thinks so." She spoke without thinking and regretted it immediately.

"No he doesn't." Rusty said patiently. "Don't worry. He blames me."

She frowned. "Isn't that kind of blaming the victim?"

He stared sharply at her and there was just a touch of anger, just a hint of fire and desperation. "I'm not a victim. I knew what I was doing." The elevator doors opened and he got out. Without many other options, she followed him.

"I'm still sorry." she said stubbornly.

He shrugged. "Fine."

"I saw Danny." She was looking for some kind of reaction. She didn't get one.

"He said." He paused. "You told him. I really wish you hadn't done that."

She sighed. "I couldn't not."

"You managed for four years." he pointed out and maybe she could hear a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Three." she corrected. "I've not seen him in a year."

"Three then." He turned back to look at her properly. "Still, you honestly think telling him did any good?"

"Telling the truth is always good." She should have told Danny long ago. When she first went back to him. Maybe she would have been able to save her marriage and their friendship. Maybe.

"Not in my experience." Rusty said dryly.

There was a polite cough from the stairwell. They both turned and Tess saw a man she didn't recognise smiling at them. There was something vaguely unpleasant in the way he was looking at them – at Rusty.

"Robert." he said, and she almost didn't realise who he was talking to, because she'd never heard Rusty addressed that way. "Robert, Robert, Robert. It's time for another of our little chats."

"Oh, what fun." Rusty smiled and she had no idea what was going on, but she suddenly had the desire to push him back into the lift and run as far as possible. "I'll see you later, Tess." He walked towards the stairwell.

"Is everything all right? Do you need me to call – " Danny, she was going to say, because if Rusty was in trouble who else would she call, but he interrupted.

" - Everything's fine, Tess." He smiled at her. Still charming. Still careless. "Don't worry."

And then he walked away with the smiling man who called him Robert, and she was worrying, of course she was worrying. But she couldn't bring herself to call Danny, and when she went back to her room she cried for an hour and then she called Terry and invited him out to dinner. The idea of telling him that there were at least two thieves in his hotel never even occurred to her.

* * *

Linus sat next to Danny in the back of the van, staring at Basher fussing over the pinch, and fretted. He hadn't meant to cause any trouble. It was just that he hadn't been able to take one more minute of the Malloys.

Anyway, Danny shouldn't have told him to stay in the van in the first place. He could have been useful, and he knew full well that Danny only made him wait because he was still angry with him over yesterday.

It was just that after Turk and Virgil had mentioned Danny's late night need to talk to Rusty, and when Linus had realised that that must have come about shortly after Danny saw Tess, he'd begun to wonder if maybe Rusty's little line about sneaking around with Danny's wife had been a complete fabrication after all. Because here was Tess, and Danny talked to her and afterwards he was angry with Rusty. He couldn't see what else it could be. But when he suggested his theory he'd thought that Frank was never going to stop laughing. Though actually he'd shut up pretty quickly when they'd noticed Danny standing in the doorway. Apparently Danny hadn't seen the funny side. And apparently suggesting that Tess and Rusty might have had an affair was an offence worthy of being subjected to the twins in an enclosed space.

Over the last few days Linus had found himself occasionally feeling like the outsider. He didn't like it much. Sometimes – just sometimes - there were flashes of something happening on a whole other level that he could never understand. Like when Basher had told them that the demolitions crew had blown out their chances of cutting the power.

Danny had immediately turned to Rusty. "We could – "

And Rusty had just seemed to _know_ what he was thinking. " – With Carson breathing down our necks? Unlikely."

"How about if – "

" – you mean with UFOs? Like in – "

" – New Orleans and I said we were never doing that again."

It wasn't the first time that he'd been witness to one of those half conversations. But it was the last time. Because he'd been annoyed and frustrated, and he just glared at them and snapped "Would you stop it?"

They'd both blinked. "Stop what?" they'd asked in unison.

"That! The mind reading act!" And as soon as he'd said it, the temperature in the room had seemed to drop sharply.

They hadn't looked at each other. In fact they'd very pointedly not looked at each other. And they'd apologised, and it had been as though they really hadn't realised they were doing it, and it hadn't happened since and over the past few days seven people had made it very clear to him just what they thought of that.

Even when he'd been following the two of them through the labyrinthine corridors beneath the police department, Rusty confidently leading the way as though he'd known the place all his life, they'd still been talking politely and formally and it had been like they were suppressing their instincts. Almost as if they wouldn't need words if they just let themselves go. Of course that was impossible, but he remembered how his dad had been surprised that they were 'talking properly' and he watched and wondered. And they got the uniforms that they needed, and the plan was brilliant and ridiculous and outrageous – they basically decoyed SWAT with a fluffy kitten, for God's sake - and it shouldn't have been doable, and Linus realised that it was nothing that Danny would even have considered in the past year and he remembered the impossible standard that he'd once felt he was being held up to and wondered if it was met.

The van pulled up outside the Bellagio and Linus and Yen followed Danny into the hotel. Basher and the twins would take the pinch round to the warehouse, so that Basher could fiddle with it to his heart's content, and Linus could only hope that they weren't about to blow up Las Vegas. He caught Danny's arm just before they got in the lift "I need to talk to you." He nodded at Yen to go ahead and Yen, somehow looking at once both vaguely intrigued and vaguely bored, did so.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

They walked round to the nearest bar and ordered drinks and Linus thought about how he was going to say what he needed to. The last few days had been busy and stressful and crowded and he hadn't even had a chance to talk to Danny on his own till now. But this really couldn't wait any longer.

"I was talking to dad a few days ago." he began eventually.

"How is he?" Danny asked quickly, and Linus almost lost his train of thought.

"Fine, I think." He frowned. "I didn't really ask."

"OK . . . " Danny shrugged.

"Anyway, he was mentioning that the situation with Carson was . . ." He hesitated. Because he didn't really know how to ask this. "Look, did you know that Carson has a reputation for using physical force to get what he wants?"

"What?" Danny stared at him as if he couldn't understand the words coming out of Linus' mouth.

And now Linus really wished that he didn't have to have this conversation. Or that he'd had it days ago. "He hurts people, Danny. Dad said he told Rusty. Before Rusty started the Verbal."

Danny sat perfectly still. He could have been carved from ice.

Linus swallowed nervously. "He didn't tell you either? And I was wondering, because he saw Carson and his hand got worse – "

Danny seemed to shake himself. " – That was an accident, Linus." he said firmly and stood up abruptly. "I need to go."

Linus watched him walk off. Quickly. "An accident." he muttered. "Right. That's what everyone keeps saying."

The drinks arrived. He drank his quickly. And then, without much else to do, he drank Danny's too.

* * *

**So what do you reckon? Still interesting? **


	14. Chapter 13

**Let me stress this in no uncertain terms; you don't want to read this. Seriously. Warnings for mature themes. Go read something happier.**

* * *

Rusty followed Carson down the stairs and tried not to think about what it said about him that Carson didn't even bother to resort to articulated threats. Apparently he'd done a good job of seeming (_seeming?)_ suitably cowed after last time. And that was something that maybe he didn't want to overdo. Because he remembered four years ago when he'd been following in the wake of a confused and angry Carson along the corridor to the interrogation room - handcuffed and with four uniformed cops half dragging him, fully aware of just what he'd let himself in for - he'd still been amused and defiant. Carson might not believe that he'd changed that much. Even if he maybe, just maybe, he had.

"Any particular reason why we're taking the stairs?" he asked casually. "Or did your doctor just recommend taking more exercise?"

Carson turned back and shot him an appreciative look. "You think that your man Livingston is the only person in the world who knows how to fix a surveillance system? The Bureau has been doing it for years. I thought that your _friends_ might just conceivably be interested if they saw us leaving together."

"How considerate." Rusty said lightly.

They walked down a couple of flights of stairs in silence. Eventually Carson spoke. "So that was the delightful Mrs. Ocean, was it? How interesting."

"Stay away from her." Rusty said sharply, because it was expected.

"Oh, I don't think you are in any position to make demands, do you Robert?" He could hear the amusement in Carson's voice.

"She's not part of this." he argued.

Carson paused on the landing and turned back to him, shaking his head mockingly. "Danny cares about her. They had dinner the other night, did you know that? Then they went back to her room together. Nice that someone's getting some, isn't it?" He paused and smiled. "Anyway, that makes her part of this. After all, having someone around that Danny cares about can only be good. From my point of view."

He took a deep breath and made a mental note to try and get Tess out of town by any means possible. And he told himself that Carson's little reminder about exactly how much Danny cared about him was nothing more than he'd been expecting. He could cope with this. He had to; it was only going to get worse.

Carson watched him for a long moment, smiling ever so slightly. Then, silently, he turned and walked down the stairs, and Rusty followed. He wasn't in the least bit surprised to see the car waiting just outside the fire exit, or that the same rhinoceros look-alike was driving. This time he was left to sit alone in the back as they drove to the office, ignored while Carson and the rhino discussed a show that they'd taken in the previous night. Nice to know they were having a good time. Still, as he trudged after Carson, past the guy on the desk who actually smiled at him in recognition, he wished that the journey could have lasted just a little longer.

"Are you ready to give me what I want?" Carson asked, as the door closed behind them.

"I'm not a rat." Rusty said, quietly, immediately and with just a hint of a tremor in his voice, because if he made this too easy then Carson might suspect something. And he couldn't help but notice that Carson looked happy at his response, and he realised that Carson didn't want to do this the easy way either. Not as much fun.

Carson pulled out his cell phone. "Then I guess it's time that I called my friends and have you sent back to prison. Where you belong."

"No!" Rusty said quickly, his eyes wide and panicked.

Carson affected not to notice. "How long do you think that Danny will take to notice you've gone? I don't suppose he'll mind that much, do you?"

"Don't . . . don't call them." His voice trembled.

"After all, he managed to replace you once before. He can do it again." Carson smiled gently. "It's not as if you're up to much these days, are you, Robert?"

"Please." he begged.

"Just a shadow of what you used to be. I wonder if Danny regrets sending you to prison in his place. Might have been better if he used someone else. Someone stronger. Someone who wouldn't shatter at the least little thing. What do you think?"

He bit into his lip and tried to lie to himself and said nothing.

"I'll tell you what I think, Robert. I think he's ashamed of you. I think all your 'friends' are ashamed of you. They look at you, and all they feel is pity. Because you're so weak and you broke so, so easily."

"Just stop it!" he shouted at last, and Carson's smile was triumphant.

"Then tell me what I want to know." he said simply.

Rusty shook his head desperately. "I can't."

To his surprise Carson backed off and started rooting through the files on his desk. "You know, Robert." he said conversationally, "I was thinking about our conversation about photography the other day, and I managed to dig out some pictures that you might want to see."

He felt a stab of apprehension. This was a new tactic. He remembered what Danny and Linus had said about the photos that Carson had faked. Shots of his friends, shots of _him_, that would be enough to get them sent to prison. He did his best to prepare a suitable reaction.

And then Carson handed him the folder and he flipped it open and nothing in his life had prepared him and he Just. Couldn't. Breathe.

_Carson's voice was nothing more than a dimly perceived whisper amongst the sound of the blood thudding through his ears and a thousand long-suppressed but never-forgotten silent screams. "Interesting, aren't they Robert? Took me quite a lot to get them. I suppose they were intended to be evidence. Taken after the . . . attack. One of the attacks, I should say, shouldn't I?"_

He stared down at the photos in his shaking hand – photos that he hadn't known existed. Photos that shouldn't have existed. Him, lying naked on a hospital bed, the bed in the infirmary, obviously unconscious, the blood, the bruising, the fingernail marks. He'd been unconscious and vulnerable (_and alone_) and they'd taken pictures, and he hadn't known, and he didn't know which time it was and Carson had seen this . . .

_Carson was silent for a couple of seconds, revelling in reaction. So much fun._

. . . Except that there was the bite mark on his shoulder, and he could feel the scar rubbing against his shirt right now, but in the photo it was fresh and bloody, and he thought about Felding's weight pinning him down and his teeth sinking in and he knew it must have been then . . .

"_I have to admit that I was a little surprised at the violence. I suppose you must have fought after all."_

. . . And there were so many marks circled and comments scribbled around the margins and words like 'bruising', 'extensive' and 'tearing' leapt out at him and he couldn't close his eyes and he couldn't look away, and he could see the finger-mark shaped bruises on his hip and he couldn't stand it anymore . . .

_Carson caught the folder before it hit the ground then meticulously put the photos back into place. He smiled as if something had caught his eye. _

. . . he'd turned away, his forehead leaning against the wall, his eyes shut tight because he didn't want to see anymore and he didn't want to think anymore and then he felt the hand on his hip, fingers exactly where they had been before . . .

_Carson measured out the distance thoughtfully. "He must have had large hands."_

. . . and he threw his elbow back and he felt it connect with flesh and he heard his attacker laugh and he tried so hard not to make a sound because that always made it worse, and his arm was twisted up behind his back and there was pain, and he was forced down to the floor and someone was whispering in his ear . . .

"_Striking a Federal Agent? That's going to add a while on to your prison time. Together with the parole violation and the conspiracy to commit theft, you're looking at a very long time inside. And unfortunately I wasn't able to find out exactly who did it. But I got a little list of likely suspects. And I found out who was still there. And they know to expect a new plaything – sorry, cellmate – sometime soon. Just as soon as you're ready."_

. . . he couldn't breathe and he couldn't get away and he just wanted this to stop, please, please, please . . .

"_Please? Oh, Robert, I bet you say that to everyone. If only Danny could see you now, can you imagine what he'd say?"_

Danny. That cut through his panic like nothing else could. Somewhere there was Danny, and Danny was relying on him to get his job done. Danny still needed him. He'd said so. And even as he carried on struggling and whimpering, even as Carson carried on talking, he put himself back together using the thought of Danny anchor himself around and the cluttered office came back into focus and he remembered where he was and what he was doing.

He was safe. Relatively speaking. Whatever else Carson was – and Rusty could think of a few choice phrases – he wasn't interested in that. The hands holding his arm behind his back, the knee in the small of his back – that was about restraint, nothing more. And he could handle that. Danny needed him. That's what was important.

He relaxed, gradually, made it look like he was too exhausted and beaten to fight anymore and his terror and weakness gradually changed into anger and self-disgust that he suppressed just as successfully.

"Don't hurt me anymore." he whispered finally. "Don't send me back and don't hurt me and I promise I'll do whatever you want."

Carson laughed and moved back and Rusty struggled to his feet. His breathing was still a shade too fast and he could feel the remains of tears trailing down his face. Been a while since he'd felt this humiliated.

"I want Ocean." Carson said, looking him straight in the eye.

And Rusty nodded in defeat and started to tell him just what he wanted to hear.

* * *

**I did say you didn't want to read it.**


	15. Chapter 14

**Warning: this chapter is dark. Literally.**

* * *

Rusty walked into his room slowly and pretended that his hands weren't still shaking. That his heart wasn't still racing. That he couldn't still taste the adrenaline at the back of his mouth. That his skin wasn't still crawling. This wasn't him. He couldn't stand what he'd become and more than anything he tried to pretend that he wasn't thinking of the little bottle of painkillers that he knew was sitting innocently on the counter. Because he was exhausted and beaten down and Carson had taken great delight in wringing every last detail out of him but he wasn't ready to surrender. Not quite.

The door clicked shut behind him and he leaned heavily against it. He didn't turn on the light. He couldn't stand to see the world. Particularly himself. He didn't think he could bear it right now.

He still couldn't handle thinking about the pictures. Or about the way he'd broken down in Carson's office because that was humiliation and nightmare and Carson had sat there, revelling in it. And he could still feel the hands touching him and he had to remind himself that it hadn't just happened. It was all safely in the past and while he wasn't naïve enough to think it wouldn't affect him he couldn't bear how close it clung to him. Like sandpaper on raw flesh and he wanted a shower and he wanted a drink and he desperately wanted to retreat to his bed and never come out again. What he didn't want was to talk to Danny and the others, but in all honesty, he needed to. He had to tell them that the Verbal had been a complete success and if he left it till morning Saul would get that look in his eyes again and everyone would go back to being concerned and solicitous and why would none of them believe him when he said he was fine? He wondered if just talking to Linus might serve the trick. Everyone else would ask a few more questions than he could probably cope with. Even Yen had hauled him into a diner and given him an angry lecture on the appetite-suppressing effect of cigarettes the other day. (He hadn't even noticed that he had stopped eating. And that was a little worrying.) But he could probably still rely on Linus' indifference.

With a frustrated sigh he ground the heels of his hands in his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. An hour or so to try and put himself back together and he'd be able to talk to his friends. He walked further into the room and stopped.

He could hear someone else breathing.

There was someone waiting in the darkness for him.

The terror rose up in him again. Someone lying in wait meant that he'd been seen and noticed and that meant that he had to run and now, because sometimes if he escaped quickly, if he made it just too much effort for them then they would leave him alone, at least for a while.

He spun on his heel and dashed for the door and he heard the figure waiting in the dark swear in surprise and then he felt a hand grip his wrist, and he bit down so hard on his lip that he tasted blood, because he couldn't scream, he couldn't make a sound or it would be worse, and he felt the blood trickle down his chin, and he heard a voice say "Hey, where are you going?" and, oh God, purple spots were dancing in front of his eyes, because that was what Moffatt always said just before he . . . and Rusty wasn't going through that again, and so he aimed a punch just about where he figured the man's stomach should be and he felt his fist connect with soft flesh and he heard a surprised grunt, and he waited desperately for the man to loosen his grip, but he just held tighter and then the man's other arm was put round his shoulders and a pleading voice was saying his name over and over again and it didn't feel like an attack anymore, it felt like safety, like security and comfort. Like Danny. He felt his knees give out and he pitched forwards.

The next thing he was really aware of was sitting on the floor in the dark, his head resting on Danny's shoulder, Danny's arms around him, Danny's broken voice whispering "It's me," and "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," into his hair again and again and again.

He stayed like that for a moment longer than he should have. Pretending that he couldn't imagine the pity in Danny's eyes. Pretending that Carson's words about shame and weakness weren't echoing in his head. Pretending that he didn't know how much he'd hurt Danny; four years ago all over again and he'd never meant for Danny to see.

He tensed and sat up straight, pulling away from Danny. "You startled me." he said, and he was pleased with how steady his voice was.

There was silence and Rusty found himself wondering just what Danny was thinking. Because, yes, 'startled' was probably not the word to describe it. But he didn't feel like talking. Not like that. Not to Danny.

"I needed to talk to you." Danny's voice trembled.

He nodded, forgetting that Danny couldn't see him, and stood up and headed to the couch. "So, talk." he said simply, and then immediately clarified "About whatever you came here for." Nothing else was up for discussion.

"Rus'," Danny sighed, then stopped. "Let me just turn on the light." Rusty heard him stand up and head towards the door and he didn't think that he'd be able to get through this without breaking down again if Danny could see him.

"No!" he yelled.

Danny paused, and Rusty heard him moving away from the door, towards the sofa. Towards him. He didn't know the layout of the room in the dark as well as Rusty did, and Rusty was almost amused to hear him trip over the coffee table twice before he managed to get himself settled on the sofa. "Okay. I won't." he said placatingly, at last. "Don't . . . " he trailed off, obviously thinking better of finishing that sentence. He sighed again. "I need to talk to you about Carson."

"How did you know?" he asked involuntarily.

"Know what?" Danny asked, and Rusty realised that whatever Danny was thinking, it didn't relate to that evening.

"I saw him tonight." he admitted. He chewed on his lip some more. "I gave him everything. He bought it."

He was slightly surprised when Danny simply muttered. "Who cares?"

He blinked. "I do. You should."

"There are more important things going on right now." Danny's voice was filled with a gentle and compassionate patience, and if he were capable of it, Rusty might have hated him.

"No. There aren't." he said flatly.

"You don't think – " He couldn't stand the incredulity in Danny's voice.

" – You could all go to prison." he interrupted and immediately realised that he'd said the wrong thing.

"Rus' . . . " and he could feel the cold fear radiating from Danny, and maybe he cared that much, enough to realise that, one way or another, Rusty wasn't going back.

"We all could." he corrected himself immediately.

Danny paused. "Linus talks to Bobby you know."

"Well, I'd certainly hope so." he answered flippantly.

"You can't have thought we wouldn't find out." There was pain in Danny's voice.

He shrugged pointlessly and reached into his jacket pocket and lit a cigarette. For a moment Danny's face was lit up in the darkness, but he didn't look.

"You lied." Danny continued.

"About what?" he asked as casually as he could.

"Carson hurts people." Danny whispered desperately and he had to remind himself about pride and the fact that he _was_ working for Danny, and Danny didn't deal well when his people got hurt. No matter what. It didn't necessarily mean anything more than the fact that Danny was a good person.

He shrugged again. "So Bobby tells me." And his voice said he didn't care.

"Did he hurt you?" Danny demanded and his voice was trembling and Rusty couldn't help but try and be reassuring.

"I'm fine." he promised.

"That isn't what I asked." And he didn't know why he'd bothered, because in all the time they'd known each other Danny had never once been so easily deflected. "Did he hurt you?"

"You're not going to believe me whatever I say." he pointed out. And maybe that was because of where the truth lay.

"Last time." Danny said, and Rusty could hear the hesitation in his voice. "Your hand."

" . . . Yes." he admitted, because he couldn't lie. Even after everything, he couldn't lie.

"Oh, God." Danny whispered. There was a long silence. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should never have – "

" – My choice." Rusty answered quickly. It was, and there was no point to Danny's guilt.

"It never used to be just your choice." Danny said quietly, and Rusty wished that he could point out how long ago that had been, and that Danny was just feeling the leftover emotions from what they'd used to be.

"Well it is now." he said briskly. "I know what I'm doing."

"Tell me what he did." Danny ordered.

Rusty hesitated and stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray. The metal ash tray in contrast to the glass ones everywhere else in the building. Saul was nothing if not thorough. And thoughtful. He reached into his jacket for another cigarette and spoke quickly. "Pencil. On the cuts. It was nothing, really."

Danny hesitated and there was pain in his voice again. "I saw it, remember?" What Rusty mostly remembered was the look on Danny's face when he thought he'd done _that_ to himself.

"I've had worse." he said immediately because he had, and not only in prison. Back when he and Danny were together things didn't always go their way and life wasn't all chocolate and single malt and sunshine. But he regretted it as soon as he felt Danny flinch. "It was nothing." he went on quickly. "He was just looking for weaknesses. I let him think that what he was saying hurt more and this time he didn't touch me."

"How can you say that?" Danny asked, anguish in his voice, and Rusty started and had to remind himself that Danny didn't _know_. "How can you say it was nothing? How can you let him hurt you? For a plan?"

He supposed that before – way back when – he wouldn't have considered putting himself into this situation. But pain was relative and he just didn't care so much anymore. Not something that he wanted to explain to Danny. "It _was_ nothing." he offered helplessly.

Danny made a frustrated noise. "What did he say?" he demanded in a soft voice.

Rusty sighed. "You can guess what he said. He used the things we gave him in the bar." He paused. There was no real reason for him to tell Danny. He doubted that it would make either of them feel better, and it would only make it harder for them to go back to being strangers in the daylight. "Which of us are you trying to hurt?"

Danny flinched again. "I don't know." He paused. "He really didn't hurt you this time?"

"Not like you're thinking." Rusty said, without thinking.

"Did he – " And he could hear the horror and the hesitation.

"No!" he exclaimed. "Jesus, Danny."

But someone did. The thought hung between them until Rusty shut it away in the darkest corner of his mind and hoped that Danny would let it go. Perversely a small part of him was disappointed when he did.

"You're not going to meet with him again." Danny announced as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Sure." Rusty agreed readily. Because, honestly, that part of the thing was done, and he shouldn't have to.

Danny cleared his throat. "Who knows?"

"That Carson hurt me?" Rusty clarified.

"Yes."

Rusty shrugged. "No-one. You, me and him."

"And Linus suspects." Danny added.

"Don't tell anyone else." It wasn't a plea and it wasn't a request.

"Rusty." Yeah, he knew what he'd say they should do, if it was someone else. But the point was, it wasn't.

"It would make things complicated." he said simply.

"You mean that we'd want to kill him." He heard the 'we' in that sentence and tried to figure out if that was just more pride and the echo of what had been or if it was something more.

"It's nothing." he tried. "It's not worth changing the plan over."

"It's not – " Danny began and Rusty couldn't take any more.

" – I saw Tess." he interrupted. "Before Carson. She looks good."

"Yes she does." Danny agreed after a pause.

He sighed. "You should get her out of town."

"Tried." Danny answered laconically. "She's angry with me. And I can't explain about Carson." That would be difficult. She was an outsider. She'd want them to go to his superiors or the police, or someone.

"He might have plans." he said quietly, because this would hurt Danny. "He said it was useful having someone that you cared about in town." And he heard the gasp and winced. "Sorry."

There was a pause and he could hear Danny breathing heavily. "At least if he thinks that, he might be less inclined to go after the others."

Rusty shook his head. "It's all about the pain."

"Tess . . . " And he could hear the panic in Danny's voice.

"I think he's going to keep that just at a threat." he reassured. He'd been thinking about that. "She's not a criminal. He doesn't have anything real on her. It's a different world, she could make trouble."

He heard Danny swallow and there was a long silence. His cigarette smouldered down and he burnt his fingers and hardly noticed. He reached into his jacket for another, and this time he caught Danny staring at him.

"You're . . . " Danny began and then trailed off.

"What?" Rusty asked intently.

But Danny just muttered. "Nothing, never mind." and disappointed, Rusty settled back into the sofa.

"If she won't leave town, we could change the plan." he offered casually. Because he'd been thinking about that too. "There are ways. You could get her back."

"You won't change the plan to . . . " Danny trailed off and he could hear anger in his voice. "But for this?"

He kept his voice reasonable. "You once said you'd give anything to get her back."

"I was wrong." And Rusty waited, because he wanted to know if it was just because it had turned out that Tess wasn't worth it. But Danny didn't say anything else.

He sighed. "It wasn't just for that."

"I know." Danny paused. "I don't know if I'd have done the same thing."

"I know." Rusty said, because he did. They'd always seen different things, and it wasn't that – back then – he'd cared more about Danny than Danny did about him. It was just that the way that they saw the world - the opportunities, variables, consequences – they were different and who knew? Maybe in the same circumstances Danny would have found a way to make sure neither of them went to prison.

"I wish . . . " Danny whispered and he didn't finish the sentence and Rusty didn't ask. Because he wished too. But no matter that the thought of Danny was the one thing that had saved him; the one thing that, so far, could always save him, the truth was that he couldn't stand another rejection. If he _thought_, and if Danny turned away again, he'd shatter completely.

"Things can never go back to the way they were." he said simply and he heard Danny sigh and he wanted to make it easy for him. Because he'd seen nothing to make him think that Danny was ever going to be able to forgive him and he saw no reason why he should, and he wasn't who he had been and maybe Danny deserved better. "I don't need you."

"I could stay." Danny suggested hesitantly and he knew that Danny didn't think he should be alone. And honestly, he wasn't too sure of that either. But he remembered that once Danny would just have assumed and neither of them would ever have had to ask or explain.

"I don't need you." he repeated and more than anything he wanted Danny to insist. And when he didn't, when instead he just stood up and headed to the door in silence, Rusty felt the last little thread holding his soul together unravel and as the door quietly clicked shut behind Danny, and he was alone in the dark, it was all he could do not to cry.


	16. Chapter 15

**Been a little while since this was updated. Been focussing on 'More things change'. And I really wasn't sure about writing Basher. Anyway, here is next chapter.**

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Danny's eyes were stinging because of the sudden shift between the dark room and the brightly lit corridor. There could be no other reason. He leaned against the wall and tried so hard not to think.

He'd never meant it to be this way. All he'd wanted was to surprise Rusty. He'd figured that if he just lay in wait in Rusty's room, and asked the question immediately then he'd be able to see the real answer written on Rusty's face. No hope of any concealment or misdirection. But Rusty hadn't come back. _(Because he was busy being destroyed by Carson.)_ He hadn't come back and Danny had sat in the room brooding and he hadn't even realised how dark it was until the door finally opened and Rusty hadn't turned on the light and still he'd kept silent, because learning the truth was far more important than not scaring his already-traumatised best friend into a full blown panic attack. Yeah. He was a bastard.

It had been dark. Rusty hadn't turned on the lights and Danny didn't want to think too hard about why. And he'd been just about to announce his presence when Rusty had obviously realised that someone was in the room, and he'd turned to run and Danny had never thought for even a second that Rusty wouldn't have known immediately who it was. Their history working against them, he supposed. So he'd thought that Rusty was just avoiding him, and he'd almost been amused and he'd grabbed hold of Rusty – he'd _grabbed _him – and he'd asked where he was going, and the amusement had been audible in his ears and when Rusty had struggled to get away he'd just held tighter, even when Rusty had hit him. And it just sounded so cruel now. But at the time he just hadn't known what to do and he found himself doubting his own memories. Because all he'd wanted was to hold on and never let go, and never stop apologising, and it had seemed as though Rusty had accepted it, getting some sort of comfort. But maybe as he'd stayed with his head against Danny's shoulder, as Danny had held him and refused to let go, maybe he'd just been expecting – waiting for – Danny to hurt him. He'd backed off quickly enough when he'd come back to himself. Maybe Danny wasn't what he needed because all that Danny was doing was making it worse.

He was trying not to think of the other times. The times that he hadn't been there for. The times that he had refused to be there for, even in spirit. The other times when Rusty had found himself in the dark with people grabbing him, people holding on to him and refusing to let go, and had struggled and had fought and had _lost_. Because once upon a time he had stood in a little interview room and he'd looked upon a man that he'd loved more than he would have ever thought possible, a man more free and more beautiful than anyone else he'd ever known, and how could he have not seen what the consequences would be? Danny had known what was going to happen as surely as he knew Rusty had. And he'd been sure then that he'd never be able to forgive him for going through with it anyway.

And he was quite definitely ignoring the small, entirely rational, part of his mind that was pointing out that if Rusty couldn't deal with being surprised in a dark room then he absolutely was not up to handling the job. Because he was too selfish to lose Rusty like that, even if it was ultimately for his own good, and because they couldn't do the job without him, and maybe just a little because he didn't think that he'd survive Saul's reaction if he sent Rusty away.

So. He was ignoring his instincts and he was certainly ignoring his common sense. And that left him, for once, with no real idea what he was doing.

He should never have agreed to the Verbal in the first place. Back then, even having only met Carson once, he had seen that the man was a monster. He'd heard the glee in Carson's voice when he taunted him. And he'd already seen that Rusty was . . . having difficulties. He frowned. Euphemisms again. He'd already seen that Rusty was close to falling apart. On the very edge of sanity. He'd deliberately hurt himself and Danny had sent him off to show his weaknesses to a man who took delight in ripping them up still further. And he should have known, somehow _known_, that Carson wouldn't just stop at words. It was his fault.

The image of Rusty's hand after the first time he'd met Carson crossed his mind. A garish mess of blood and exposed flesh, and Rusty had sat and let someone do that to him and he hadn't told anyone. '_Pencil. On the cuts. It was nothing, really.'_ Not nothing. Very far from being nothing and Danny didn't know what he was supposed to do. Not in the face of Rusty's constant assertions that it was nothing, and that he knew what he was doing. Because he had no idea how to make Rusty see how wrong he was. And of course, things had gone wrong in jobs before. They'd both been hurt before, by angry marks who'd seen the truth, or watchful marks who hadn't. But it had never been part of the plan before. They'd never treated it as just one more inconvenience to be got through, one more variable to be accounted for. It had always mattered. And now, apparently, it didn't.

He closed his eyes tight and wondered just when he'd got so useless. One thing he knew he could do; Rusty wasn't going to be on his own. Maybe ever again. Because Carson wasn't going to hurt him again, and he wasn't going to hurt himself again. And part of Danny wanted to wake Saul and demand that he somehow fix this, but they weren't absolutely sure how closely Lyman Zerga was being watched. He shouldn't risk it.

Livingston would be a good choice. In the early days of his relationship with Tess, when he'd been caught up in the giddiness of having found the _other_ one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, somewhere along the line, sometimes he hadn't got the balance right. And Rusty had been old enough and secure enough to understand, and it wasn't like he needed his hand held . . . but Danny knew that Livingston had been there. Not taking his place, but there. And for a while there had been private jokes and late night drinking sessions that he had no part of. Once there'd even been trouble – bad trouble, and the look on Livingston's face, as he tried to explain the tangled web around the death of Vernon Slater, surfaced sharply in his mind – and he hadn't been Rusty's first phone call. And, okay, so maybe he'd been on his honeymoon. He'd still have come running. But Livingston had always been there for Rusty. And that's what he needed right now.

Almost without thinking about it he found himself knocking on Livingston's door and, moments later, being confronted by the man himself, dressed in checked pyjamas and blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? Are we in trouble? What's going on? What's wrong?" Livingston asked, in one breath.

He pushed past Livingston, into the room. "Can I come in?"

"You just did." Livingston pointed out, shutting the door behind them. "Danny, what's wrong?"

Everything. "Rusty," he shrugged helplessly.

"Is he all right?" Danny stared at him incredulously. Livingston spread his hands wide. "I mean, considering?"

He sighed. What to say. How much to share. "He saw Carson again tonight. He needs . . . " He had no idea.

"And you left him?" Livingston asked, sharp and incredulous, and Danny realised that he thought the same as Danny had about the way that Rusty had hurt his hand. And even though he'd promised there was a part of him that wanted to scream the truth from the rooftops. The same part of him that wanted to stand over Carson and watch as that smile faded and the light went out of his eyes.

He looked at the floor and concentrated on staying calm. "He needs someone who isn't me."

"Or maybe he needs you to actually do something," Livingston snapped, and Danny got the impression that this had been a long time coming.

"I'm open to suggestions," he bit back. Why did everyone think that he had all the answers? He couldn't just make this all go away, no matter how much he might want to.

There was a pause. "Sorry." And Livingston did actually sound regretful. "So what do you want me to do?"

"I just don't think that he should be on his own." Danny said quietly.

Livingston nodded slowly. "I'll go. I'm sorry, Danny. It's just . . .you're not the only one who missed him, you know?"

For once he didn't bother pointing out that he hadn't missed Rusty. He wasn't the only one that this was hurting. He got that. He wasn't the only one who felt like dying every single time he saw that lost look in Rusty's eyes.

_It's all about the pain._

Oh, God, Rusty.

* * *

It was a little after midnight, he'd got to sleep maybe twenty minutes before, having finally figured out what the green button on the pinch did, - and yeah, maybe they should have nicked the manual while they were at it – and some _wanker_ was hammering on his door. He groaned and buried his head under the pillow. "Go away," he yelled, and unbelievably the knocking stopped. He sighed in satisfaction. Be thankful for small miracles, his mum had always told him, and he was. Until the door clicked open anyway and someone stepped inside and knocked on the other side gently.

"You better have one really good reason for this," he groaned, rolling over and flicking the light on. He sat up to see Rusty, standing just inside the doorway, pale and looking more uncertain than Basher had ever seen him, clutching a bottle of whisky, and with blood on his face. "Right. Fuck."

"I promised Saul," Rusty said, in a tone that suggested that he thought this was a sensible explanation.

"Okay, mate." He nodded, placatingly, and stood up and led Rusty over to the couch. "You're lucky I decided to wear my jim jams."

"You never sleep naked," Rusty pointed out and Basher decided not to ask. With something that might have been a smile Rusty held up the bottle. "Want a drink?"

Instead of answering, Basher stood up and fetched a couple of glasses. He waited until Rusty had knocked his back and was reaching for the bottle again before he casually asked. "You hurt anywhere else?"

Rusty blinked at him. "I'm not hurt. He didn't touch me."

Right. What? He gestured towards the blood. "Your face."

Rusty raised an exploratory hand. "Bit my lip," he said after a moment.

"Hard enough for that?" He couldn't help asking. Even though he knew that maybe he should just let Rusty drink and talk, or not talk, or do whatever would make him comfortable. But there was blood all down his chin.

"Yeah," Rusty answered simply and reached for a tissue and wiped it all away.

"You said 'he'," he asked cautiously. Because talking or not talking, but there were some things a man had to know.

Rusty looked away. "Saw Carson tonight. The Verbal's done."

That still didn't explain it. Not really. Because the point of the Verbal was that no-one got hurt. They'd never have set it up – Danny would never have even considered it – if they'd thought that there was any possibility that Carson would lay a finger on Rusty. But he wasn't certain that he should be the one having this conversation. "Well, that's good. Isn't it?"

"Very good." Rusty grinned humourlessly, finished his second drink and reached for a third.

"Maybe you should slow down," Basher suggested. "The night's young. Pace yourself."

Rusty looked at him. "I wanted to get drunk. Figured no-one wanted me doing it by myself."

Hell, no. "I could go fetch Danny," he suggested, because in his mind that should still always be the answer. "He'll want to hear about the Verbal, apart from anything else."

"He knows." Rusty said shortly, draining another glass. Basher surreptitiously moved the bottle out of his reach and took the first sip of his own drink. "We talked."

And obviously that hadn't gone well. Jesus, he hated this. It was awful; two people who went together better than flames and oxygen, who still connected like they had their own private language, and who needed each other more than anything else in the world; watching them absolutely fail to be what they needed to be was driving him insane. "What happened with Carson?" he asked quietly. 'Cause it was looking like now someone had to talk, and he was the only one here.

"He said . . . a lot of things." Rusty stared down at his glass. "Some of them were true."

He didn't want to pry. But he didn't know what else to say. "What sort of things, Rusty?"

Rusty still didn't look at him. "It was nothing, really. Leave it, okay Bash'?"

He would have thought of something to say. He would have. But there was a sudden urgent knocking at the door.

"Like Piccadilly circus in here," he muttered, getting up to check the door. Hopefully it was Danny, come to fix whatever he'd broken. But when he opened the door, Livingston was standing there in his pyjamas and a dressing gown, looking more nervous than usual. "This isn't a good time for a Quake match," he began.

"Have you seen Rusty?" Livingston cut in, wide eyed and hurriedly.

"In here," Rusty called, and sighing Basher stepped aside and let Livingston into the room. He stood staring at Rusty for a few moments who grinned sardonically. "Drink?"

"Yes please." Livingston accepted the glass and knocked it straight back, coughing slightly as he did so. God, the way the night was going, Basher's room was in imminent danger of becoming overwhelmed with drunk thieves.

"Danny sent you." Rusty commented, as Livingston settled himself down on the sofa, leaving Basher to pull a chair over.

Livingston looked startled. "Yes. Well, no. He told me that you were – "

" – Freaking out?" Rusty suggested.

"No! I don't know. I'm not, you know, reporting to him or anything." Livingston seemed offended at the very thought.

Rusty nodded and drank the drink that at some point he'd managed to pour himself.

Livingston held his glass out for a refill and chewed on his lip. Bad habit. "He said you saw Carson."

"Uh huh." Rusty agreed. "The Verbal's done."

"Was it bad?" Livingston asked hesitantly.

"It was nothing," Rusty shrugged and Basher and Livingston exchanged incredulous glances. "You know I can see when you do that."

Damn. "Sorry, Rusty," he said quickly.

"Sorry Rus'" Livingston agreed.

"Hey, do you remember the last time I saw you? In London?"

"Sure I do." It had been less than a month before Rusty went to prison. "You stood me up for breakfast." He'd waited nearly an hour.

"Oh yeah," Rusty grimaced apologetically. "Sorry. Danny called. Well, Tess called. Danny needed me."

He nodded understandingly, because he did. "You'd been going to tell me more about the Tate," he remembered.

"Yeah, the weak spots." Rusty grinned. "Did you ever do anything about it."

"Never got around to it." Or, rather, he'd been waiting because he didn't want to use Rusty's plans on his own, and he'd been hoping that one day Rusty would come back and they could finish what they'd started. "Maybe after this, yeah?"

"Maybe. Some time." Rusty's eyes were distant and he finished his drink again. And it wasn't Basher's habit to watch his friends so closely – okay, so maybe it was – but that was his fifth. And Basher knew damn well he hadn't been eating.

"Think you've had enough, Rusty," he said gently.

"I'm not drunk yet." Rusty looked at him desperately. "Remember the week before, with the bank and the gallery and Marks & Spencers?" He could hear the need to talk – the need to avoid silences – and his heart ached.

"Yeah." He smiled slightly. "Who would have thought that shop dummies melted like that. Gruesome. I swear I had nightmares for years after it."

"Me too." Rusty said quietly.

And there was the gaping black void looming in front of them and Basher really didn't want Rusty to fall into it. He turned to Livingston hastily. "Hey, that reminds me, remember that wire game we ran in Denver as part of the Heggarty job? When you took exception to the mannequin in the silver shirt?"

Livingston blinked. "Yeah . . . ?"

"It was my shirt," Rusty said with a small – but genuine – smile. "We ran out of clothes a little early."

"And you said that no one would really wear it." Basher grinned.

"As I remember he actually said no-one with even a passing acquaintance with style would wear it." Rusty corrected.

Livingston grinned suddenly. "I stand by that."

"I liked that shirt." Rusty drained his glass with a smile. "Too bad it got blown sky high with the rest."

Livingston snapped his fingers and Basher reflected that Livingston had always been a bit of a lightweight. "That was the time with the giant magnet. It _was_ Denver, I knew it!"

Of course. "You're right," he nodded. "After Danny lost it, it took me ages to figure out another way to wipe the tapes. And then, soon as I got it sorted, the bastards bring it back."

"You never did say how you got the magnet back, Rus'." Livingston turned round and suddenly stopped speaking. Basher turned to look only to see that Rusty had either nodded off or passed out, his head now slumped against the arm of the sofa, the whisky glass dangling in his hand.

"You think he's all right?" Livingston whispered.

Basher shrugged his shoulders. No. He didn't think Rusty had been all right for a very long time now. But he didn't know what to do about it. "Think we should wake him?"

"No. At least I don't think so. You don't mind if he sleeps in here, do you?" And there was something meaningful in the way Livingston looked at him. Oh. Right.

"He's not to be left alone?" he whispered, incredulous.

Livingston shook his head. Fuck, this was getting bad.

"Might as well get him comfy then," he suggested, reaching out and trying to take the whisky glass out of Rusty's hand.

Rusty immediately shrank back and muttered something. Something quiet and anguished and desperate, of which Basher only caught the words "Please" and "Don't". And "Danny."

He stepped back as though he'd been burned, unable to think, unable to breathe.

Livingston stood staring at Rusty for a very long time. Then he turned round and marched determinedly out of the room.

"Hey, Livingston. Where are you going?" Basher whispered, chasing after him. Because wherever it was, he wasn't so convinced it was a good idea.

Finally Livingston stopped outside of Danny's door and knocked. Loudly.

"Come on, leave the bloke alone. It's not his fault." Basher begged.

Livingston didn't look at him.

Danny opened the door, frowning, and Livingston swung wildly and punched him in the face. "Some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are too bright," he hissed loudly, and then he fell to the ground. Basher had to hope that no-one else had heard.

Danny rubbed at his mouth and stared from Livingston to Basher. "Is he all right?" he asked quietly, and Basher knew full well he wasn't talking about Livingston.

"Passed out on the sofa," he said, which maybe wasn't that reassuring now he came to think of it. "I'm just going back to him."

"Good." Danny nodded. "I'll see that Livingston gets to bed."

He hesitated. "Danny, it wasn't your fault."

Danny smiled at him, full of charm. "Yes it was," he said, simply and sincerely.

* * *

**Oh, for anyone who doesn't know, when Livingston says 'Some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are too bright' he's quoting the Shawshank Redemption. Either he or I have an obsession with that film.**

**So what did you think? As I said, bit unsure with this one. **


	17. Chapter 16

Danny stared into his cup of coffee and tried to ignore the pain in his bruised lip and the matching throbbing from the bruise on his stomach. Livingston could hit quite a bit harder than Danny would have given him credit for. Rusty came as no surprise. But the swollen lip wasn't exactly going to make his life easier. He'd already had to charm two waitresses out of their suspicious glances. Not that he hadn't had it coming.

Livingston didn't think so of course. Now. He'd been woken by a phone call full of rapidly-sobering apologies and, with polite and friendly words, he'd refused to listen. Because Livingston had been right last night, not so much with the punch, but when Danny had been hauling him back to his room and he'd been rambling his way through accurate accusations and cruel conjectures as to exactly what had happened to Rusty in prison that had come so close to destroying him, and again and again and again he'd told Danny that he should have saved him. And after all, Livingston didn't even know the real story. What would he say if he knew that Rusty had gone to prison in Danny's place? What would he say if he knew what Danny had let Carson do?

_(And he'd used the word, the word that Danny had spent four years blocking out of his mind, the word that he'd avoided even thinking ever since he'd seen Rusty – thin and dulled and defeated, jumping at shadows and trying so successfully to hide it – walk into the Bellagio and tense when Reuben touched him.)_

He looked up as Basher and Rusty entered the restaurant, and with narrowed eyes watched as Basher smiled his way through a goodbye and left. Not what he'd meant when he'd said that Rusty shouldn't be left alone. Though admittedly he hadn't said it to Basher. He needed to find some way to talk to everyone, preferably without Rusty finding out. Well. Maybe not everyone. Basher, Livingston and Frank would be onboard with no questions asked. Saul and Reuben would be in after a lot of questions. Despite the fact that he hadn't known Rusty before, Yen would probably get involved. But Linus and the Malloys – he should probably leave them out of it. He didn't think that they had any idea how bad it really was, and he certainly wasn't going to enlighten them.

To his slight surprise Rusty slid into the seat opposite him. He looked pale and hungover, if Danny was being honest. He'd lived with him long enough in the past to recognise the signs. "You don't need to look like that." Rusty began conversationally. "Basher had to head down to the warehouse. Apparently Turk might have been playing with something he isn't supposed to. Bash' figured you'd be capable of babysitting for a few hours."

Right. So they were pretending that last night hadn't happened. He could go along with that, if that's the act that Rusty needed to put on. For the moment. "You noticed."

Rusty shrugged. "Woke up with Basher hovering over me. And you sent Livingston last night. You're not very subtle."

"I'm extremely subtle." Danny pointed out, offended.

The waitress came by. "Black coffee, please." Rusty smiled lazily at her and she giggled. Danny had the strange feeling that he was trying to make a point. Trying just a little too hard, and he could see where the cracks were.

"Another coffee and an orange juice, please," he added politely, when she finally looked at him.

Once she was gone, Rusty frowned at him. "You hate orange juice."

"It's for you," Danny said patiently.

Rusty frowned some more. "_I _hate orange juice."

"It's good for you." He gestured towards the buffet. "And go get something to eat, too."

Rusty just looked at him.

Danny met his eyes without hesitation. "What, you think I want to explain to Saul why you're not eating?"

"Not your responsibility." Rusty said evenly, but he stood up and walked over anyway.

Danny slouched back in his seat and finished his coffee, just in time for the waitress to bring a new one. His fourth; it was going to be that sort of day. Plus he hadn't got much sleep last night. Too many nightmares. Again and again he'd seen Rusty ambushed in the dark. Grabbed and held and hurt. Raped – the word that Livingston had dared to use. Time and time again he'd woken up choking back tears, biting his tongue to keep from screaming. And it had taken a remarkable force of will to avoid going and checking that Rusty was still safe. And now they were sitting down to breakfast together and Danny had to make polite conversation and act like they were uncaring acquaintances – because that's what Rusty _wanted_ – when all _he_ wanted was to hold him and maybe never let go, and _ask_, and _know_.

After a few minutes Rusty came back with a plate of food. Less than he'd normally eat, but still all pleasantly unhealthy and smothered with ketchup _and_ maple syrup. Rusty's cure for late nights, hangovers and Thursdays, and it made Danny feel a little bit better to see it. And, as he watched Rusty pick absently at it, he realised that was the point. Great.

Rusty glanced towards his lip surreptitiously.

"You can ask." Danny told him.

He nodded. "What happened?"

Danny honestly couldn't think of a way of telling the truth without it seeming at least a little embarrassing. "Livingston hit me."

"Oh." Rusty grimaced apologetically, obviously and correctly realising that he was probably involved in some way.

"He called you a bird." Danny added after a moment.

Rusty blinked. " . . . huh." He seemed to mull this over for a few moments. "Shawshank?"

"Yep." Danny nodded.

"Sorry." Rusty offered, with a shrug.

"Not your responsibility." Danny answered immediately, and somehow in the absurdity of the stalemate they found themselves smiling at each other.

"What have you got today?" Rusty asked after a moment.

Danny paused to think. "Meeting with Bruiser, meeting with Roman, Benedict's having lunch with Tess again – "

Rusty looked at him. " – Going to – "

" – Yeah. Well." He smiled.

"Shortcut." Rusty nodded.

"Exactly." Danny agreed. "And then the warehouse tonight. You?"

Rusty sighed. "Warehouse for most of the day. Need to help Livingston set up the cameras and be talked at by Basher about the Pinch. And there's something about the vault that's annoying me."

"Mistake?" Danny asked with a frown. Sounded unlikely to him.

"Something." Rusty shrugged and rubbed at his lip. As soon as he raised his arm his sleeve fell and Danny got a good look at the five finger mark shaped bruises livid and obvious on his forearm.

He froze and for one terrible moment he wondered if he'd somehow done that last night. But he knew that he hadn't, would never have gripped that hard no matter what, and he realised that the truth was worse. Carson. And that meant Rusty had lied to him. He'd lied to his face and Danny hadn't known.

"What's up?" Rusty asked with a frown.

Danny forced himself to relax. "Nothing," he replied. "Just thinking about Tess and Benedict."

Rusty nodded but Danny could tell that he had spotted the lie the moment it passed his lips. And maybe that was something, but it didn't help. Because if Rusty was lying to him about this – still lying about this, even though he knew what Danny thought – then what else was he hiding?

* * *

Saul walked round the vault restlessly. Or rather Lyman Zerga stalked round the vault purposefully. And that was a very different thing. Because Lyman Zerga stepped like _that_, and glared like _that_, and when he paused to inspect the cart he stood like _this_. And it was vitally important that Saul could slip in and out of character at a moments notice.

"Would you_ quit it_?"

Also it had the not-entirely-insignificant advantage of annoying Reuben considerably.

He fixed Reuben with the full weight of Lyman Zerga's stare. "I am not doing anything."

Reuben made a sound of extreme frustration and Saul had to concentrate to keep from smiling. Lyman Zerga never smiled. He'd have to remember that.

Danny walked over hesitantly and stood, leaning on one of the shelves. He looked round to Saul and Reuben and opened his mouth to speak. Then he shook his head and glanced over to where Linus and the twins were having some sort of argument.

"What?" Reuben asked, still irritated.

"I need to talk to you," Danny said quietly.

"Then speak," Lyman Zerga answered.

Danny shot him a pointed look. "I'm serious, Saul."

"Right," he answered, slightly abashed. He hadn't really meant to do that. Reuben looked triumphant. "What's on your mind?"

"Rusty," Danny answered, and Saul wasn't in the least surprised.

"What happened?" he asked gently

Danny looked at his shoes. "He saw Carson again."

"Is he all right?" Reuben asked immediately.

Danny ignored him. "I don't know what Carson's saying to him, but he's getting worse."

"Worse? Worse how?" Reuben demanded.

"There was . . ." Danny hesitated. "He didn't recognise me last night. It was dark, but not even my voice. He thought I was someone else. He thought he was somewhere else." Reuben swore softly and in his heart Saul agreed. "And he lied to me about something important. And I didn't notice." Danny added, very, very quietly.

"What was the lie?" Reuben questioned sharply.

Danny shook his head. "I can't tell you," he said, and Saul could tell that he desperately wanted to.

"Daniel?" He kept his tone soft and questioning.

But Danny shook his head again. "I can't. Sorry. It would make things complicated."

Right. As though things weren't already complicated. "What are you going to do?"

"We need to make sure that Rusty's not left on his own. I don't want Carson getting anywhere near him again, and I don't want . . . " he trailed off. But Saul knew perfectly well the other reason why they weren't leaving Rusty by himself.

"It's that bad?" he asked. Because he already knew that it was, but for Danny to abandon his little 'He's not my problem' act, things must have got worse.

"Where is he?" Reuben put in, frowning.

"Yes," Danny said simply to Saul before turning to Reuben. "He's with Frank. They're doing something with the chips."

"What?" Saul asked, momentarily distracted. Because as far as he was aware that had all been sorted days ago.

"I don't know, playing tiddlywinks?" Danny shrugged. "Frank just said there was a problem."

Saul shook his head and dismissed the issue. Really not what was important right now, as long as Rusty was safe. "But what are you doing about it?" he emphasised.

"I'm just making it worse, Saul."

"Really," he said flatly.

Danny gave a half shrug. "I'm not what he needs."

Saul just raised his eyebrows. Reuben laughed disbelievingly.

"He said so." Danny protested.

"And you believed him?" Saul asked incredulously.

"No," Danny admitted. "But he doesn't know what's best for him right now. I'm not what he needs."

Reuben sighed. "You're probably all he needs."

Danny closed his eyes. "I've tried to help him. He won't let me."

And Saul hoped against hope that Rusty wasn't really so far gone that he didn't want to be helped. "Have you actually told him how you feel? Out loud?"

Danny's eyes shot open incredulously and Saul reflected that no matter how old they got, part of him would always see them as the pair of barely-adult boys he'd first met, proud and brilliant and indivisible and, in spite of all that, in desperate need of guidance. Some things just never changed. "Sometimes people need the words, Danny," he said gently.

"He knows . . . " Danny shook his head. "Of course he knows."

"Are you sure?" Saul asked, and wondered if Danny even knew how he felt himself.

Danny frowned stubbornly. "I'm not what he needs," he repeated.

Saul sighed and glanced uncomfortably at Reuben before focussing back on Danny. "I love both of you like sons," he said quietly and Danny looked up at him in astonishment. But if saying things aloud was his new watchword he had to set an example. "And I promise if you don't stop this I'm going to start knocking your heads together. You're worrying so much about hurting each other that you're destroying yourselves. Both of you."

Danny looked thoughtful, and Saul felt a fresh spark of optimism, right up until the point where he heard Linus yell, "Oh, what the hell?" and he turned to see Agent Carson standing in the doorway of the warehouse, flanked by two goons and looking deliberately at Danny.

* * *

**That probably counts as a cliffhanger. Oh well. Did you enjoy it? **


	18. Chapter 17

**So, guess I owe people an apology. For the lack of update. After a cliffhanger. Seriously, does anyone remember this? Other than the usual mildly-nagging suspect? Oh well. Sorry it took so long. I swear I'll try to do better.**

* * *

Frank watched Rusty spin the new poker chip between his fingers. "Well, fuck," Rusty said eventually.

Yeah. He couldn't help but agree. "Security chased a group of card counters out of here last night. Next thing you know, they've swapped out all the chips."

He didn't bother spelling out the rest. Rusty must've got it quicker than he had. Their fake chips were the old version. They needed a whole new batch. At this stage in proceedings.

"Well, guess I never wanted an easy life," Rusty commented.

"How much of a problem is it?" Frank asked.

Rusty shrugged. "Going to need to ask Reuben for more money. Last minute jobs cost. We can get it done." He leaned forwards against the banister. "Might need to call in a few favours."

"You got some in mind?" Frank grinned, because really, he'd never known a time when Rusty didn't have someone in mind who owed him, or who owed Danny and back then there'd never seemed to be a difference.

Rusty smiled back. "Nothing like saving favours for a rainy day."

"And now it's pouring," Frank said lightly, watching the poker chip pass between Rusty's fingers.

But there was a pause. "Yeah," Rusty said at last, quietly, and Frank realised that he'd heard something else.

"How are you feeling, Rusty?" he asked tentatively. Because Livingston had grabbed him just before they headed out and had whispered a long and garbled account of the past twenty four hours, and it wasn't like he'd understood half of it – but he'd got that they were keeping a round the clock watch on Rusty. And that was just more flavours of not-right than he knew how to deal with.

Rusty turned his head and grinned at him. "The direct approach. I like it."

Well, that was about as far from being an answer as he could imagine. "You don't look so good."

Rusty grinned some more. "Why, Frank. I'm hurt," he said lightly, mock-offence in every word.

Frank looked at Rusty; pale and still too damned thin and dressed in what had to be the most conservative suit he'd ever seen him in. Except for the thing he'd been wearing in Atlantic City last month. That had been worse. But hurt. Yes. Definitely. "You doing okay?" he asked, and realised that he was never going to believe the answer.

"I'm fine," Rusty answered patiently and he had no trouble meeting Frank's eyes, no trouble smiling. Man could sell sneakers to a mermaid.

He sighed. "Bet you wish I hadn't called you, huh?" He wished that, a little. At first he'd hoped that maybe being back with Danny would do Rusty some good. And maybe when they'd been talking like they used to, and when they'd been spinning plans together he'd let himself hope that things were going to go back to how they had been. Hell, nostalgia just wasn't what it used to be, and seemed like Rusty was falling apart.

Rusty hesitated. "Not like I was doing myself a whole lot of good in Atlantic City anyway," he said eventually.

"Right." But at least he wasn't on suicide watch, or whatever the hell this was.

"And you know I'd never have forgiven you if you didn't call," Rusty added.

Yeah. Because Danny had needed him. Frank shook his head and wondered just how Danny had lasted four years without needing Rusty. He hadn't even lasted two days knowing Rusty was out before insisting on getting him involved. "You and Danny – "

" – Nothing to talk about there," Rusty interrupted evenly.

Frank sighed. "Couldn't you just apologise or _something_? Anything?"

"Not a lie I'm ever going to tell." Rusty smiled and quickly spun the chip in the air. Frank watched as it landed on his hand and immediately vanished. Annoying.

He shook his head and said nothing. What was there to say? The silence was broken by Rusty's cell phone playing a disturbingly upbeat tune.

Rusty stared at the caller ID before answering. "Hey, what's up? . . . In the . . . Huh. Right. . . . No. . . . . I'm with Frank. We'll see you upstairs. . . . I'm fine, Saul. . . . Yeah. I do." He hung up the phone with a grimace, and turned to Frank. "We've got a problem."

Great. They could add it to the list.

* * *

Turning round and seeing Carson and his goons standing in the doorway of the warehouse ranked fairly high up any list of the scariest moments of Linus' life to date. This place was supposed to be safe. They laughed here, worked here, ate pizza here; and now there was a man standing there whose suspects had a history of falling down the stairs. Who had once talked a man into suicide. Who, if Linus was right, and Danny and everyone else was wrong, had hurt one of them just to get some information. And all right, so he still wasn't completely sure of Rusty. But that was about as far from being okay with him as it could possibly get, and the man who did it was standing right in front of him and Linus couldn't decide whether he wanted to punch him or run for the exit. Admittedly he couldn't see either scenario working out for him.

Carson had turned and smiled vaguely at him when he'd yelled, but to be honest, he looked at Linus for something less than a second before his gaze slid over to Danny. And as much as Linus hated being overlooked, this was one time when he would have been honestly okay with it, if it wasn't for the fact that Danny didn't deserve the bastard either. Probably no-one did.

"Good evening, Danny," Carson said mildly, somehow managing to convey the impression that everyone else in the warehouse – Linus and Saul and Reuben and the twins – was completely beneath his notice.

"What do you want, Carson?" Danny asked, and Linus couldn't help but admire the lightness of his tone, as well as the steel underneath it.

"Just thought I'd pop in to see how you were doing." He smiled again and wandered into the fake vault and started wandering round slowly; picking things up and carefully examining them before equally carelessly tossing them aside; knocking on the walls; kicking at the floor tiles. Ridiculously, Linus found himself thinking that if Rusty was there he'd probably kill Carson. Especially if he left scuff marks.

"We're doing fine, thank you very much," Danny said with a grin, and Linus had known him long enough to recognise that somewhere beyond everything that any normal observer could see, Danny was furious.

"I can see that," Carson said, horribly admiringly. "You know, I think that you might actually manage to pull this off."

Wait a minute. Wait just a minute, here. Linus opened his mouth but Reuben beat him to it. "If you didn't think we could do it, why did you set this whole thing up?"

"Well," Carson shrugged. "I didn't really need you to succeed as such. Just the attempt at something so . . . bold, would have been enough for me to launch my investigation. But this," He shook his head in wonderment. "Oh my. So you have the fake vault to show him while you're in the real vault. And I have no doubt that you're more than capable of getting yourselves in. Especially as I have the reports from a rather interesting robbery in California on my desk. But how are you getting the money out? Hmmm," He rubbed his chin. "Planning on giving Terry Benedict a call perhaps?"

It occurred to Linus that if they didn't already _know_ what Rusty had said to Carson this would have scared the bejesus out of him. And it was obvious that Carson was taking delight in rubbing his superiority in their faces.

"Something like that," Danny said tightly.

"Easy enough to work out, perhaps," Carson smiled. "But I honestly don't think that Benedict will see it coming for a second." The smile widened. "So I'm afraid I'm going to have to change the arrangement, just a little. I want half the money."

"What?" Linus burst out. "You can't do that!"

Carson turned and slowly walked towards him. "Oh, yes I can. And there's nothing you can do about it." He leaned in, far too close for Linus' liking. "Unless you want all those nice photos to be made public? Because I could arrange that really, really easily."

Linus managed to avoid taking a step back. "Uh, no. But half the money?"

"Of course, you'd go to prison," Carson went on thoughtfully, ignoring him. "And just think what that would do to daddy dearest. His only son, his pride and joy – _is_ he proud of you, by the way?" Linus tried not to react, he really, really did. But Carson smiled and he was sure the bastard had noticed something. "I mean, no obvious job, no shining career plan, no girlfriend. Everyone thinks you're hopeless, Linus. And imagine if you went to prison. Poor Bobby. His son branded a thief. And him a respected FBI agent. No-one would ever trust him again." Linus tried not to think about what that would do to Dad's cover. Carson's voice was silky smooth. "Do you think he'd come to visit you in prison? Or would the shame just be too much?"

"Okay, you've made your point," Danny said sharply and Linus could have kissed him.

Carson never took his eyes off Linus for a minute. But he still answered Danny, amusement ringing in his voice. "Oh, so you _do_ care about this one? Well, well." Finally he stepped back and turned away and Linus exhaled shakily. Up close there was just something wrong about the man.

"Half the money," Carson repeated, turning back towards Danny. "Considering what you have to lose I can't help but think that's a fair deal, wouldn't you say?"

Danny nodded slowly, and now the anger and the helplessness was clearly written across his face. "Fine."

"Good." Carson grinned widely and shook his head. "You know, Danny, I really can't get over how well you're doing. Of course you had help, didn't you?"

There was a very slight increase of tension in the room. Which was funny, really, because Linus would have said that things couldn't possibly _get_ more fraught.

"Don't know what you mean," Danny said, and the lie was obvious and it took Linus a horrified second to realise that it was meant to be.

"Dear Robert," Carson said patiently. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? You called him. I have to say, I admire your ruthlessness."

Linus cringed and waited for Danny's denial.

"Got the plan done," Danny said tersely and Linus blinked. Because, what the hell?

"Oh, no arguments," Carson nodded. "So useful. And so, so, willing to do whatever you say. Even after what happened four years ago."

Danny swallowed. "Right."

"Must be nice to have your own lapdog. And on such a short leash too. Willing to come running whenever you whistle. Willing to sit up. Beg. Roll over?" He smiled. "All on your command."

"Got the plan done," Danny repeated and there was an audible note of hopelessness in his voice. A sudden noise to the right made Linus turn round sharply; one of the goons had had to move quickly to hold Turk and Virgil back.

Carson smiled approvingly and turned back to Danny. "Oh, I wasn't criticising. Quite the reverse, in fact. You're my kind of person, Danny."

Linus could actually see the revulsion in Danny's eyes, plain as day, and he began to wonder just what Carson was seeing.

"It's not like that," Danny protested, but he hesitated for just a fraction of a second too long, and somehow it just didn't quite ring true.

"Of course not," Carson nodded mockingly. Then he quietly walked over up to Danny and leaned in, closer even than he had to Linus. And though Linus tried his hardest, he couldn't hear what Carson whispered in Danny's ear. He saw the way Danny's face paled though. The way Danny's jaw tightened. He saw Danny's fists clench and really, just because he didn't know what was going on didn't mean he wasn't scared.

Then Carson turned and walked out of the warehouse, as though nothing had happened, his two goons falling in behind him. He paused at the door. "I'll be in touch," he said, offhandedly and Linus hated him.

"What did he say?" Linus demanded, almost before he was sure that Carson had gone.

Danny shrugged. "Nothing important."

"Daniel." And honestly, if Saul used Linus' name in that tone of voice, he was pretty sure he'd confess to everything.

Danny just smiled. Not that it reached his eyes. "Nothing, Saul. Really."

Reuben was frowning. "He said about four years ago. _Carson_ was the guy who caught Rusty?"

"What?" Linus blinked. Because he'd known that Rusty had met Carson, but he hadn't figured it was so personal.

After a second Danny nodded. And said nothing.

"You don't think that sort of thing is something you should share?" Turk asked.

"Turk's right," Virgil nodded.

Turk swung round and glared at him. "Well you . . . wait, what?" He paused, apparently incredulous.

"Enjoy it while it lasts." Virgil muttered before turning back to look at Danny. "Seriously, if Carson is tied up in whatever happened between you and Rusty, don't you think we need to know?"

Danny was looking increasingly trapped. "We're not going to talk about it. It's in the past."

And honestly, that didn't seem like a good idea. "It's pretty obvious that he's using it to play you, Danny. Maybe – "

" – Not. Happening." Danny interrupted.

After a slightly awkward pause Saul cleared his throat. "Has everyone forgotten that Carson wants half our money? We need to get everyone in on this."

Reuben turned and gave him an incredulous look, and Linus realised that Saul hadn't looked in the slightest bit surprised at the supposed revelation. Seemed as though this group was full of secrets. And that couldn't be good.

He also realised that no-one was talking about the way Carson had talked about Danny and Rusty. And though it hurt, he couldn't help but wonder if that was because everyone thought it was too absurd to mention . . . or too true.

* * *

**The main problem with leaving so long between updates was that I'd forgotten what it's like to write Carson. He's a cigarettes and alcohol character; after writing his lines I want plenty of both. Ugh. **

**Anyway, how's the story? **


	19. Chapter 18

**See? Not nearly as long to wait!**

* * *

Livingston was still trying his best not to actually meet anyone's eyes. Especially not Danny's. In fact every time he caught sight of the faint bruise beneath Danny's mouth he cringed inside. He couldn't believe he'd done that! It really wasn't like him, but like he'd said to Danny, he'd missed Rusty these past few years. A lot. And he knew it was irrational to blame Danny, but he'd known Rusty a long time. Well. He'd known Rusty and Danny a long time, (and he thought he was probably one of the few who thought of them in that order.) At any rate, all the time he'd known them, he'd understood, or thought he had, that whatever it actually _was_ between them, it was unbreakable and as necessary to them as food; as drink; as oxygen. And he didn't know the whole story, and he didn't seriously think for a moment that it was actually Danny's fault in any conventional sense – but he knew Rusty. And Danny knew Rusty far better, and he had to have known that it would be the worst.

Because once he'd been with Rusty in an elevator when it got stuck between floors. It had taken five hours it to be fixed and Rusty's mask of amused and absolute self control had only lasted three. It had been . . . bad. Livingston had been scared. He hadn't known what to do, and when Rusty had been pacing around the tight space, talking increasingly quickly and increasingly erratically, all he'd been able to think to do was to murmur meaningless, soothing platitudes and talk him out of actually climbing out through the roof.

Later that evening Rusty had drunkenly admitted that being trapped like that was his worst nightmare. Being imprisoned, hemmed in, being caught and controlled. Being trapped.

Except that wasn't quite true. And they both knew it. Because back in the elevator, at the absolute worst of it, when Rus' had stopped pacing and had slumped against the wall, huddled in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest – Livingston had heard him whisper Danny's name. Just once. But it was enough.

Freedom and Danny; Rusty needed them both just to be alive. Just to be himself. And if Livingston understood that then Danny saw it a thousand times clearer. And that was why he'd never quite been able to forgive Danny for not doing something – _anything_ – to save Rusty from prison.

And in the darker moments since Rusty came back, he wondered if something worse had happened to Rusty in prison. Because if he was being honest . . . Rusty had hurt himself. They all knew it. Well, nearly all anyway. And in a way it was a little like being back in that elevator. He had no idea what to say and he had the feeling that soothing platitudes really weren't going to cut it this time. And last night when Rusty had sounded so broken, and he'd said Danny's name, and all that Livingston could think was that this should never have happened. He'd wanted to blame someone and it had been Danny. And yes, that was wrong. But he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been that angry.

Still, he couldn't even begin to think about meeting Danny's eyes now. Which was probably why it took him far longer than usual to notice. See, the thing was, he'd had a lifetime's experience of watching people. Maybe that made him a voyeur or something, but the point was that he knew people's habits. If, for some mysterious reason, someone had asked him four years ago about Rusty and Danny, and if, for an even more mysterious reason, he'd been inclined to talk then one of the things he almost certainly would have got round to mentioning would have been the way that they looked at each other _all the time_.

If you met them off the job you'd probably assume that they didn't even realise they were doing it. Until you saw them while they were working and all that just fell away. Not that they stopped. They just got a thousand times – a _million_ times – more subtle. They _never_ stopped, that was the point.

There were always quick looks to check where the other one was, sidelong glances to share a private and unspoken thought or comment, lingering stares when something was wrong. Amused, or concerned or simply plotting, they were always, always looking at each other. Just another part of the silent conversation they were permanently entwined in.

And when Rusty had come back . . . Well. It had been different. Not a conversation. More like two separate monologues that no-one could hear. But Danny had still always been looking at Rusty; every second that he thought no-one would notice. And now he wasn't.

Rusty and Frank had arrived back before the others – Livingston, Basher and Yen had already been in the room, he'd been watching surveillance footage, Basher had been watching the detonators and Yen had been watching basketball. And then Rusty and Frank had come in, and Rus' had said about how Carson had been in the warehouse and they'd sat there in nervous silence for twenty minutes until Danny and the others had appeared, safe and well.

And of course he'd been relieved, but then he'd caught sight of the bruise on Danny's face again and then had come the cringing and the staring down at his own fingernails, which had continued all the way through the story of the confrontation and the threats and the 'half the money or else'.

As a result, it hadn't been until the twins had been trying to describe Carson that he'd noticed.

"He was completely cold. Like a lizard. Like _the_ Lizard." Turk explained.

Virgil shook his head. "No, he was more than that. More like Dr Doom or somebody."

Turk frowned. "Dude, the Lizard could kick Dr Doom's ass!"

And that was when he first noticed. Because he looked up at Danny, since normally Danny would stop an argument that pointless. (And it _was_ pointless – Victor von Doom had the resources of the entire of Latveria for God's sake. No way he got taken down by any second string Spider-Man villain.) But Danny was watching them intently and it was as if he was doing his best not to accidentally look elsewhere in the room.

Linus frowned and interrupted the twins. "And he whispered something to Danny."

"It was nothing important." Danny said immediately, turning round to face Linus.

"What did he say?" Rusty asked immediately and Livingston saw the way he was looking at Danny and realised that he wasn't actually expecting to get an answer to his question. It was more like he was declaring his interest or something.

And that was when he _really_ noticed. Because Danny effectively ignored Rusty, instead continuing to look at Linus and acting as if he'd been the one to speak. "Nothing important," he repeated emphatically. "Look. This really doesn't change anything. So does anyone have anything else?"

Rusty spoke up immediately. "They've swapped out all the chips at the Bellagio for a new design. Something about a group of card counters. Honestly, you just can't trust people not to get caught these days."

Linus' eyes widened. "That's a problem."

Rusty shrugged. "We just need a new batch."

"Go see the other Benny." Danny suggested in a tone that really wasn't a suggestion and made Livingston frown unhappily.

"Sure," Rusty nodded, "Or – "

" – Benny would be best." Danny interrupted firmly. And he still didn't actually look at Rusty.

"I could just phone him," Rusty pointed out. "You know if I go up there he's going to find – "

" – Just go!" And Danny wasn't quite shouting. Not quite. But his words were an order and Livingston watched Rusty shrink back, just a little, and he found himself wishing that he'd hit Danny harder.

There was an uncomfortable silence. And when Rusty finally broke it his voice was perfectly controlled and unpleasantly neutral. "Right." He looked at Linus. "Kid, fancy a roadtrip?"

Linus looked between Rusty and Danny uneasily. "Uh, sure."

"I'll go," Livingston offered, at exactly the same time as Basher and Saul. Because it should be someone other than Linus.

Rusty looked round at them with a calm smile. "Think me and Linus are the only ones who can be spared right now," he pointed out. And he was right.

The problem was, no-one was willing to have the argument. Not in front of everyone. Not when it would mean admitting so many things that they just didn't want to admit to knowing about. He caught Saul's eye and he contented himself with the knowledge that at least there would be the argument in private.

And he wondered what the hell Danny was thinking.

* * *

Tess looked up from her book with a smile at the sound of someone settling into the seat opposite her, _expecting_ to see Terry and _hoping_ to see Danny. Because she wanted to try and apologise again for – everything – and she couldn't help but think that the fact that he'd seen fit to interrupt her lunch with Terry meant that he'd gone some way towards forgiving her. Jealousy at least meant that he cared, right?

But the smile quickly vanished when she saw the man smiling back at her and it took her a couple of moments to remember where she recognised him from. Two days ago. The stairwell. He'd called Rusty 'Robert' and she'd been inexplicably afraid.

"Good evening, Mrs. Ocean," he said politely.

"It's Ms," she answered coldly. "Ms. Halliday. And I don't remember inviting you to sit down."

"I'm sorry about that." He smiled pleasantly and she didn't believe him for a second. "My name is Harry. I work with your husband and his . . . _friend_. Robert."

She frowned a little at the familiar insinuation. "I don't like eating dinner with criminals I don't know."

He looked startled and laughed a little. "Come now, Tess. We might not have been formally introduced, but I feel I know so much about you. Danny's shared so much. And I want to be your friend. I want to help you." He sounded sincere and she wondered if he had a crush on her. And she wondered if she should be flattered or repulsed.

"I don't need help," she pointed out.

"No?" He leaned forwards, his gaze intent, his smile wide and open. "Don't you want to know what Danny's up to?"

She did. She really, really did. Sighing she took refuge behind her wine glass. "It's none of my business."

"I'm sorry?" He blinked innocently. "I thought that since you and he were getting back together – "

" – What?" She was staring. Couldn't help it. Because that was several years and a thousand miles from being possible.

He rubbed his hands together nervously and tried to explain. "Well, after Wednesday night, I guess . . . " He trailed off.

Wednesday night. The night Danny had come by at dinner. The night that they'd . . . "Who told you about that?" she demanded and it was such an effort to avoid screaming it.

"Danny did," he blurted out and immediately looked rueful. "I shouldn't have said anything. Please, don't tell him I told you."

"Oh, I'm going to be saying a lot to him," she said grimly.

"Really?" He looked slightly and guiltily relieved, and once again she wondered. "I suppose that's probably for the best."

"What do you mean?" Her eyes narrowed.

"As I said, I feel as though I know you, Tess. And don't get me wrong. I hate going behind their backs like this. Danny's my kind of guy. And I like Robert."

He paused and she really wasn't sure if she wanted to hear this. "Why do you call Rusty that?" she asked, leaping on a different question gratefully.

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Robert? Oh, it's just a little private matter between us. He doesn't mind. Not at all."

There was something in his voice that made the original conversation seem more appealing. "You were saying?"

He coughed. "Yes. I like them. But the way they treat you is shameful."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The insinuation earlier . . . it was this. Again. "Right."

"No, I mean it. I mean you're a beautiful, successful woman, and to be treated as a dupe by a pair of crooks, well. It's just not right." His eyes were wide and his smile was pathetically sincere.

"I think you should leave now." This was a line of flattery she wasn't buying into.

"Tess. Listen to me. You're nothing but a beard to them." His voice was low and urgent and it was obvious to her that he believed every word he was saying.

She sighed. "I've heard it all before. It's never been true." It wasn't; she knew that perfectly well.

"I'm their _friend_, and I'm telling you this. I don't want to see you get hurt." There was a faint whine in his voice and repulsed definitely had it.

"Look, if you're not going to go, I will." She made as though to stand up.

"I have pictures," he blurted out.

She paused. "What?"

The words tumbled out of him, seemingly beyond his control. "I'm their surveillance guy. Have been for years. Sometimes I see things I'm not supposed to."

"Show me." She sat back down.

He looked round ostentatiously and then produced a folder from inside his jacket. "Here."

Taking it with only the slightest hesitation she flipped it open. She didn't believe it for a second. But the man sounded so sincere. And there was something about him.

The first picture looked like it had been taken at an airport departure lounge. Obviously from before Rusty went to prison. Danny was sitting on the very edge of the bench and Rusty was stretched, cat-like, across the remaining space, his head resting comfortably on Danny's knee. He was obviously asleep and Danny was looking down at him with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and affection.

Didn't surprise her in the slightest. In fact it almost made her smile. She remembered in the very, very early days of her relationship with Danny, going back to his place after a date – his and Rusty's place, of course – to find Rusty sleeping upside down, his feet over the back of the recliner, his head hanging down past the footrest. One hand had been holding a bunch of papers that Danny had done a very nice job of not letting her see, the other had been clutching a biro. Inexplicably there'd also been a fountain pen in his mouth, which had been steadily leaking ink that had trickled over his lips and wound its ridiculous way down to his hairline. Danny had looked at him with the same expression, she remembered, before politely apologising and asking her if she'd mind leaving. It had been their third date. He'd asked her back for a cup of coffee and she'd said yes. She'd been fully open to the implications and he'd turned her down because his friend needed him. And somehow that had been the moment when she'd first realised how very, very easily she could love him.

She looked up at Carson and smiled mockingly. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?"

An expression flickered across his face, far too quickly for her to properly categorise it, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop a crucial couple of degrees. "Try the next picture," he said tightly.

She moved the first picture out of the way and took a good look at the second. Again, obviously from before four years ago. An alleyway in the rain. A doorway. And Danny and Rusty, holding on to each other as though they were never planning on letting go. Danny's arms wrapped tightly around Rusty's shoulders. Rusty, arms tucked around Danny's waist, leaning in close, his lips practically on Danny's. And yes. It did _look_. At least it would have. If it wasn't for their expressions. Misery and desperation and fear, and the more she looked the more it seemed as though maybe Rusty was the only thing keeping Danny on his feet. And that was never going to do anything other than remind her of old fears.

And she remembered the first time she had seen that expression on Danny's face. It had been about eighteen months before they were married, six months before Danny proposed, and less than a month before Rusty moved out of the apartment and Tess moved in. They'd just come back from an extended business trip. A business trip that had been stretched on far beyond the two weeks Danny had told her in the first place. She'd got call after call of apologies and 'Just another week' and excuse after excuse as to exactly why she couldn't come out for a visit. And for nearly ten days the calls had stopped altogether and even when he'd called again, even more full of apologies, she'd been cold and dismissive. Except all that had stopped, when he'd come back home, and she'd gone round to see him, half planning on telling him that it was all over but there'd been _something_ . . . he'd clung to her desperately and though she'd known for a long while that he loved her, for the first time she'd felt like he needed her. And later as they lay in bed and her hand traced circles on his chest she'd felt the new scars and she'd asked and he'd stumbled through a story of a car accident and fear and pain and not wanting to tell her over the phone. (_And some lies she would never forgive him for telling_.) And later still, when the nightmares woke him, screaming Rusty's name, she'd held him close until the shaking stopped. Misery and desperation and fear. It had been written on every inch of him. Of course, later again, she'd woken up to a cold and empty bed and the sound of the TV playing in the living room. She'd crept through and found the TV showing 'The Blues Brothers', the video box lying on the coffee table next to a bottle of whisky, two glasses, an empty carton of ice cream and more crumpled up chocolate wrappers than could comfortably be imagined. Danny and Rusty were asleep on the couch, spooned together. One of Danny's hands had been tangled in Rusty's hair, the other had been resting on the cast in Rusty's arm. And Rusty's head had been tipped up to look at Danny, as though he'd fallen asleep in mid-sentence. And despite the dark spider-web of bruising on his cheekbone that echoed the fracture beneath, he'd looked angelic. And Danny had looked divine. She'd stood and watched them for a very long time. And she'd have been lying if she'd said she wasn't jealous. But the thing was, it looked like _that_, and it wasn't. It was innocent.

She looked up at him again and laughed. "Show me something I don't know."

He smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that." He leaned across the table and revealed the last picture.

This was different. This was completely different and it wasn't something that she'd ever, ever have imagined. She felt the smile fall from her face, even as the ice and the fury crept up her back.

The picture was of poor quality. A still from a CCTV camera she'd guess; at least that's what they looked like in the movies. Didn't mean that she couldn't see perfectly well what it showed. How dare they? How could he? He'd been lying to her for years. Using her. All that time, and had they been laughing at her behind her back? Even as she told her friends that it wasn't like that. She'd been the blind one. Oh, God.

She stared down at the photo. Danny was leaning against the wall. Rusty was kneeling in front of him. The angle of the camera left little to the imagination and she felt her mouth twist in disgust. And that wasn't the worst. Because she recognised the tuxedo that Danny was wearing. She even recognised the buttonhole. Of course she did.

"You know, Mrs Ocean. I've often heard it said that a man is entitled to a last fling when he's supposed to get married. But with the best man?" He shook his head disapprovingly.

It had been the happiest day of her life. And Danny had been . . . She swallowed hard and thrust the folder back across the table at him, not trusting herself to speak.

He picked up the photo and looked at it and smiled. "I suppose Robert must have swallowed. Or else there might have been a stain on the tuxedo that would have been a little difficult to explain."

She stared at him with unvarnished hatred.

The folder disappeared back into his jacket and he looked over at her and laughed. "Oh come now, Mrs. Ocean. It's hardly my fault now, is it?"

With an abrupt movement that made the table shake she got to her feet and walked away; barely able to see where she was going.

She heard him laugh again and call after her. "At least now you know what your ex is."

Yes. She did. And she _never_ wanted to see him again. She'd go and see Terry instead. He was a good listener. And there were a few things that she wanted to tell him.

* * *

Danny sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands and tried not to think. But Carson's whispered threat was playing on an endless loop.

"_And if you even think about trying anything clever, Danny, then I'll destroy everyone that you care about. And I'll have so much _fun_ when I do."_

Thing was, Danny didn't doubt for a second that he would. And of course they were trying something clever. They were trying something extremely clever, and it was going to work.

But if it _didn't_ . . .

He had to get Tess out of town. He had to protect the others as best he could. And he had to make sure that it didn't look as if Rusty was even close to appearing on that list.

And he knew he wasn't exactly being rational, but he wasn't going to lose anything else. Anyone else.

Better to be unpopular now than devastated later.

* * *

The thing was, in prison he'd never actually thought of doing it. Maybe that was crazy, but the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Oh, he'd thought of _dying_ from time to time, but actually killing himself? No. That had never been an option. What was it Saul had said? Surrender wasn't in his nature. Which was funny, because right now he'd already silently run up the white flag.

In an odd sort of way everything had got easer since he'd woken up on Basher's couch and suddenly thought "I can't live like this." It had been so unexpected that he'd lain perfectly still for a very long time and considered it in its entirety. He thought about the nightmares. About never being able to relax. About not being even a fraction of what he had been. And most of all he thought about Danny, lingering out of misaimed pity and misplaced nostalgia. No. He couldn't live like this.

Then he'd opened his eyes and he'd seen Basher hovering, concern and worry in his eyes and he'd thought "Not quite yet." He still had a job to do. And oddly enough, since he'd made the decision, pretending had got easier. He'd actually sat down with Danny at breakfast that morning, and he didn't think that any of it had been visible at all. Which was good. No, he'd get through this and then he'd just disappear. Easiest on everyone.

He stared at the bottle of pills on the coffee table and smiled. Not quite yet.

* * *

**Why do I feel I may not be popular right now? **


	20. Chapter 19

**Ahem. The awkwardness over sleeping arrangements was inspired by InSilva's wonderful 'Not quite Zihuatanejo' and used without permission for good solid plot reasons. Well, for plot reasons. And if you haven't already read aforementioned story, then you should.**

* * *

Linus stared down at the open suitcase on his bed and wondered if he had everything that he'd need. At first he'd assumed that he wouldn't need _anything_ – it was only a three hour drive, for God's sake – but when he'd tried to point that out, Rusty had just looked at him with an amused sort of grin and said "It's the other Benny." As though that was somehow supposed to explain everything. Then he'd told Linus to pack for at least two days and to bring something formal. And then he'd walked off, muttering ostentatiously about finding gumboots and a raincoat, Livingston tagging along at his heels. Linus was almost sure that he'd been being played. But he'd dug out an anorak, just in case.

He couldn't help but notice that Rusty had seemed brighter for the past day or so. More relaxed. More light-hearted. Which surely could only be a good thing; even if it did leave him as the subject of random teasing. Three hour drive, he was sure he could think of some way to get his own back.

Just as he was contemplating adding another pair of socks – because you could never really have too many spares – there was a knock at the door. Frowning, he looked through the peephole. Danny was standing there, hands in his pockets, looking directly at him. "I need to talk to you," Danny said loudly, through the door.

Linus quickly let him in. "What's up?" he asked, closing the door firmly behind them.

"I need a favour," Danny said, wandering over to the bed and looking at his packing. "That's what you're taking?" he asked, surprise colouring his voice.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat and tried to explain. "Well, Rusty said . . . what, do you think it's too much?"

Danny shrugged. "It's the other Benny," he answered simply.

Right. Fine. "What's the favour?" he asked.

"I need you to . . . " Abruptly Danny turned away from him and stared at the wall. "This isn't easy. It's not what I want." It sounded almost like he was talking to himself. He wheeled back to face Linus. "I need you to watch Rusty for me. Please."

Linus stared at him. "What do you mean?" The question was as much to buy some time to think as anything else. Because he wasn't stupid; he'd never been stupid, and over the last few weeks he'd have had to admit - he'd have sworn - that Danny trusted Rusty more than anyone else. But he thought of Carson's insinuations and the way Danny had spoken to Rusty and he just didn't know what to think. Danny had sounded so cold, and even when Linus had first started working with him and had made an inadvertent habit of screwing up, Danny hadn't talked to him like that. And he didn't know if he was more disturbed that Danny had given the order or that Rusty was obeying it. Like a well-trained lap dog. Not his words, but they kept echoing in his head. But then again, that _'please' _He'd never heard Danny sound like that before.

Danny took a deep breath. "I know you don't trust him – "

" – I don't _not_ trust him," Linus interrupted, and he admitted that it probably sounded a little ridiculous, but he wanted to be clear.

"Right." Danny hesitated. "I just need you to keep an eye on him. A close eye."

"In case Carson tries something?" Linus suggested. It was the only thing that immediately occurred to him that made sense. Though surely Carson would be more likely to try something in town.

Danny nodded slowly. "Something like that." He didn't elaborate.

Linus bit his lip and tried his best to sound calm and reasonable. "Danny, if you want my help you need to tell me what's going on."

Danny didn't even hesitate. "I can't."

And that wasn't much use. He tried again. "Is this about what Carson said? You feeling guilty or something?"

There was absolutely no emotion on Danny's face. "I just need you to watch him. Think you can do that?"

The trouble was, no matter what, he owed Danny and he cared about Danny. "I'll keep an eye on him," he promised.

"Thanks." Danny's voice was quiet and sincere and he seemed to relax infinitesimally. And maybe Linus felt just a little bit of pride in the fact that his promise meant something. "You're going to be late."

He looked at his watch, swore, grabbed his suitcase and fled downstairs, leaving Danny shaking his head behind him.

When he got outside Rusty was leaning against the car, talking to Saul. Saul didn't look particularly happy. "Just remember – "

" – I promised, okay?" Rusty grinned but Linus couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses. "I'll call if I need anything. Quit worrying." He turned round and nodded to Linus. "You ready?"

Saul also looked round at Linus. "Good morning," he said, uncomfortably. Linus got the impression that he should have taken a few minutes more to come downstairs; Saul looked as if he desperately wanted to say something more to Rusty, but in the end he just patted him on the arm awkwardly and walked off.

"What was that about?" Linus asked.

"Nothing important," Rusty shrugged.

Yeah. Seemed like that's what everyone said.

Just then Yen came running out of the hotel, swung his overnight bag into the backseat and stood there looking expectant.

"Wait, now you're coming?" Linus frowned.

Yen just smiled.

"Livingston." Rusty muttered to himself obscurely.

Yen gave a long, and seemingly unconcerned explanation, and one of these days Linus was going to be able to figure out at least a fraction of what he said.

Rusty sighed. "Okay, but I'm driving."

It wasn't until they were a couple of miles out of town that Linus felt relaxed enough to start talking. "So this guy we're going to see – "

" – The other Benny," Rusty supplied.

"Right." He paused uncertainly. "What's he like?"

Yen leaned forwards expectantly. Rusty paused. "He's a good guy," he began eventually. "Made his money doing something obscure in the Seventies and he's been living well ever since. He can get you anything you need. Almost immediately."

"For a price?" Linus guessed.

"For a favour," Rusty corrected.

Yen frowned and asked a question.

Rusty took a quick look over his shoulder. Linus kind of wished he would quit doing that. Or at least let someone else drive. "Could be anything." Rusty smiled suddenly. "One time he had us steal a Van Gogh for his wife's birthday."

Linus' eyes widened. "Sounds difficult."

"Sounds fun," Rusty smiled some more. "He invited us to the party too. We spent the whole night eating crabcakes and pretending to be oil magnates so that Edgar Faulkes would pick us up. I thought Reuben was going to kill us."

"You and Danny?" Linus asked wonderingly.

"Yeah." Rusty's smile faded.

"So how come he's called that anyhow," he asked, finding himself suddenly eager to change the subject.

Rusty shrugged. "His real name's Benjamin Palmer."

"So why the other Benny? I mean, who was the first Benny?"

"Benny Hill," Rusty answered absently, his eyes focussed on the road.

Linus blinked. "Really?"

Yen laughed and he wished that he hadn't said anything. Rusty shot a quick grin at him. "No."

"Come on," Linus sighed. "Why's he called that?"

Rusty turned round and regarded him seriously. "You should _definitely_ ask him."

Yeah. Somehow he didn't think he'd be doing that.

* * *

Benny's house was exactly the way Rusty remembered it; ostentatious, ugly and in the middle of nowhere. Benny himself was a little changed; little bit more round the middle, little bit less on top. Getting older. Who wasn't?

Still he seemed pleased to see them, which could only mean one thing – he wanted something.

"Rusty! Good to see you," he boomed as he led them inside and got them settled on what had to be the strangest-looking chairs Rusty had ever seen. They had dragons carved into the wood and the cushions were more tassel than not. What people did with their money . . . "I've not seen you in an age. How have you been?"

Huh. Well. Information had never been one of the currencies that Benny had traded in. Still. He guessed that maybe people really didn't talk about him when he wasn't there. Hopefully that would make afterwards easier. He could feel Linus and Yen's eyes on him and forced an easy smile. "Been good."

"Good, good." Benny nodded happily. "And Danny? He's not here?"

The smile stayed on. "He's fine. Busy. Oh, Benny, I'd like you to meet the Amazing Yen and Linus Caldwell, Danny's new partner." Easy enough to say and it should be enough to stave off any more social niceties.

Sure enough Benny's eyes grew wide and he looked uncomfortable. "Oh. Right. Nice to meet you." Shaking his head slightly he turned back to Rusty. "So, you said you needed something? If I can do it, it's yours."

Yeah. The number of favours they'd done for Benny over the years, Rusty wasn't surprised. And still the man somehow always managed to get a bit more out of them. "Poker chips. For the Bellagio." He produced one out of his pocket and handed it over.

"New," Benny commented.

"They changed them yesterday," Rusty confirmed.

Benny nodded. "Easy enough. Can get them for you in three days. Soon enough?"

Three days. Cutting it fine, but it was doable. "Fine," he agreed. "Thanks Benny."

"Don't mention it," Benny hesitated thoughtfully and Rusty waited. Here it came. "There is one thing." He stopped.

Rusty kept his face carefully blank. "Uh huh?"

"Well, I mean, I hesitate to ask, but I could really use your help." Benny smiled disingenuously.

"With what?" he asked, suppressing a sigh. He didn't need this. He was tired, he wanted to rest, he wanted . . . well, he wanted lots of things that he couldn't have. In the meantime he was still standing.

"Lenny Karowitz," Benny answered immediately.

Now there was a name from the past. "What's he done?"

"I was playing cards with him a couple of days ago," Benny began and Rusty fought not to grimace. One thing Benny couldn't do was play cards. He just didn't learn and he just didn't quit.

"What did you lose?" he asked wearily.

There was a long silence. "My wedding ring," Benny admitted finally.

"Shit." Yen commented. Rusty was too busy shaking his head in disbelief to say anything.

"Hey, I had a Straight," Benny protested.

"Benny, even if you had a Royal Flush . . . " Some things you just didn't bet.

"I know, I know," Benny ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Evangeline's away right now, but she's back in two days. Please, Rusty. I need your help."

That was the thing about Benny, he was never direct. If, for whatever reason, Rusty said no to this, they'd still get the chips, on time and perfect. Next time he needed something though, that would be different. (_Except there wasn't going to be a next time_.)

"You want us to get the ring back for you?" he clarified.

To his slight surprise Benny shook his head. "Well, yes. But I want you to take that rat for everything he's got. He's trying to scrape cash together, get in on the ground on one of Cowell's investments. I want him out of it."

Little more complicated than they really had the time for. But it was Lenny Karowitz. And that not only made it easy, it made it tempting. His eyes flickered over to Linus and Yen. Yen shrugged slightly, Linus looked lost and only slightly disapproving. His call then. He turned back to Benny. "Done," he agreed. "Where does Lenny hang out these days?"

"The Moonrise Lounge in LA," Benny answered immediately, with a smile.

"Classy," Rusty said, thoughtfully. They could be in LA inside two hours. And the rest _could _be very straightforward. He turned to Linus. "Kid? How're your poker skills?"

* * *

Linus had to admit, in an odd sort of way, this was kind of fun. It wasn't like working with Danny – not exactly – but there was some similarity that he had a feeling he would never fully understand. When Rusty had smiled and laid out the idea in the car, when they'd just marched into city hall and picked up the hotel plans like they had every right to them, when he'd staggered into the Moonrise Lounge and seen Rusty already ensconced in a booth with Karowitz laughing like they were old friends. Some sense that he was part of something bigger. Not for money, or fame, or because some psycho was blackmailing them, but just for fun.

Besides there was always something liberating about acting in ways you never would. "Trust fund brat." Rusty had said. "Young, rich and obnoxious." And he was doing his best to live down to that. Drunk and loud was easy enough to pull off, flashing a wallet full of cash had been a piece of cake, and he'd been blatantly hitting on all the women in the place until one of them had confused him by actually responding to his unapologetic leering. Which was really, really far from being the point. Panicked, he'd made as though to grab her ass and she'd slapped him. Just as well, but he'd seen Yen, sat in the corner with a bottle of beer, fall into hysterical laughter. He'd resisted the urge to glare; the last thing they needed was the mark to get suspicious.

He ordered another drink, already thinking about where he could surreptitiously dump this one, and watched Rusty and Lenny in the mirror over the bar. Seemed to be going well. And he'd caught both of them staring at him, so he'd clearly made the right impression. Roping him in was probably the difficult bit. Tomorrow night should be easy. If Rusty was as good as he seemed to think he was. And somehow Linus found it difficult to seriously doubt that.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the mark approaching and turned his attention to his drink.

"Excuse me?" Lenny said pleasantly. "Tony Green?"

Linus turned. "You got the wrong guy, pal," he slurred.

"Really?" Lenny frowned. "You're the image of my old friend Hank Green when he was young. You're really no relation?"

"No," Linus shook his head. "'m sorry. Never heard of him."

"Strange . . . I was sure." Lenny clicked his tongue. "Well, let me buy you a drink anyway."

Clumsy. Not at all the way he'd have done it. But he was wanting to be picked up. "Sure thing, pal," he told his new best friend.

* * *

Rusty watched Lenny talking to Linus and grinned tiredly to himself. The kid was good. Danny could pick them. And that made everything easier too.

Suppressing a yawn he concentrated on the scam. He'd been right; Lenny was easy. Oh, he'd been suspicious when Rusty had first bumped into him full of surprise and eager smiles. But after a few drinks; and through Rusty acting like he'd forgotten all about Memphis – and Baltimore, come to that – and making a point of talking about Denver way back when their star had very much been rising and Lenny had been insecure enough to be loyal; he'd come round to acting like Rusty was an old and valued friend, just ripe to be taken advantage of. Perfect. Couple of hints of desperation – just out of prison, ready to do anything for some ready cash – and he'd had Lenny right where he wanted him; thinking that he had Rusty right where _he _wanted him.

Of course Lenny had been up on current events. He'd asked about Danny. "Gonna see Ocean again?"

He'd stared down at his drink. "Water under the bridge, man."

Lenny had oozed sympathy. "You're better off out of it. Arrogant dick."

And oddly enough that had taken him exactly where he wanted to go; into a razor-lined trail of reminiscences. Remember this and remember that and above all, remember who you're talking to. It was when he was rambling through a judiciously edited account of the thing in Cincinatti, with the Mayor and Molly's magazines, that he finally saw the dollar signs click over in Lenny's eyes.

"How about we team up?" he'd asked with barely concealed excitement.

Rusty had gazed at him blankly. "At what?"

"Poker. I've got the cash, you've got the skills. Easy money. And we both need it." Lenny's smile had been ingratiating and Rusty had smiled back like it was the best idea he'd ever heard.

"Got a mark in mind?" he'd asked. Cue Linus. Easy. Nothing missed out, nothing to do but watch Linus work and relax.

He was going to need to call Saul. Tonight. And have exactly the same conversation that he'd had last night. He wasn't trying to sell the 'nothing's wrong' line anymore, he was offering 'I'm getting better' instead. It was easier and apparently more convincing. Slightly, anyway. He could still see the fear in Saul's eyes every time he looked at him. But he was telling Saul the things he wanted to hear and that was the best he could do. (_Saul just wanted the truth_.)

He leaned back and rolled the glass against his head and tried to think of nothing.

* * *

They'd only been able to get one suite in the hotel where Lenny was staying. Two bedrooms. Two beds. And Linus had been trying to get his head round the awkwardness, right up until the point where Rusty settled himself on the sofa with the hotel plans and a mug of coffee like he had no intention of moving ever again.

"Do you ever sleep?" Linus blurted out after a second too long of staring.

Rusty looked up at him with a slight smile. "Sometimes," he allowed.

Yen muttered something that Linus _chose_ to believe was meant as 'Goodnight' though he certainly wasn't going to be repeating it in mixed company – or any company come to that – and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

Linus waited until the door closed and even a few minutes afterwards, watching Rusty stare back down at the papers spread over the coffee table. "You introduced me as Danny's partner," he began eventually.

"You are," Rusty replied, without looking up and with the air of one pointing out the obvious.

"No I'm not," Linus said sharply, because he couldn't believe that Rusty didn't see that. "Danny's called me that _once_. I've never said it. I'm his student, or whatever. Not his partner."

"Not the way I see it," Rusty answered simply. "You work well together. He needs to work with someone and you're good for him."

"Maybe he's not good for me," Linus blurted out.

That got Rusty's full attention. He put down the plans and leaned back in the sofa, studying Linus like he'd never seen him before.

Linus shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I didn't mean it like . . . Look. I joined up with Danny because I wanted to get out from my dad's shadow, right? I wanted to be something other than Bobby Caldwell's kid." Great. Now he was explaining his life story. Rusty nodded and gestured for him to go on. "And Danny's amazing, and I've learnt so much . . . but I'm just Danny's protégé, you know?"

"You want people to know _your_ name," Rusty said and there was amusement in his voice but no condescension.

Linus sighed. "Sounds stupid, huh?"

Rusty smiled at him and Linus found himself smiling back. "You want to make it on your own, make it happen," Rusty told him, seriously. "You need to go for what you want."

"Is that what you do?" Linus asked, before he could consider whether that was too personal a question.

"Planning on it." Rusty answered immediately.

Linus nodded. "I just keep thinking, what happens if I screw up and there's no-one there to catch it?"

Rusty laughed. "Oh, you're going to screw up, kid. Everyone does at some point."

"Thanks," he muttered. "You're really reassuring.

"You've got the skills and you've got the contacts." Rusty leaned forwards and looked him straight in the eye. "I've seen you work, the last few weeks. You're good." He grinned. "Just need confidence, that's all."

And for some reason Linus found himself believing him and basking in the compliment. "You really think so?"

"Sure." He pulled the plans towards him again. "Now go to bed and let me work."

Right. He wondered if making Rusty sleep came under the heading of keeping an eye on him. But he had no idea how he'd even start going about that. He bit his lip. "Goodnight, Rusty."

"'Night, kid." Rusty didn't look up at him.

Linus went to bed thinking about confidence and charm and dedication. "The best", his dad had said, and he could see what he meant now. Which made it all that bit harder to take.

* * *

**See? There was funny. Hope you liked. **


	21. Chapter 20

**Warning. Unpleasant themes. Again. Sorry.**

* * *

At some point he'd passed out. They hadn't stopped.

He'd come round to the sound of grunting above him and a rough hand forcing his head down on the floor. The concrete and the friction were tearing up his face. He thought he was in the storage room beneath the kitchen, but he wouldn't swear to it. Couldn't remember how he'd got there but there was blood in his eyes and pain everywhere. With an effort he forced his elbow back sharply, trying to hit something, someone, and started struggling again, desperate to throw his attacker off. It did nothing. It was like he had no strength, like there was nothing there.

"Fighting's good. I like that." The words were whispered impossibly in his ear and he recognised the voice, and he recognised the feeling of the hands squeezing his hips. Felding. "I can fight too. Want to try?"

And then there were fists and a different kind of pain for a while and he felt something crack inside his chest and it still didn't stop.

"I _thought_ he'd have large hands." Carson sounded pleased and Rusty managed to lift his head long enough to look at the man. He was sitting just in front of Rusty, casually spinning a pencil between his fingers. When he saw Rusty looking he smiled gently at him. "They're all ashamed of you, Robert. Can't you see why?

There was blood in his mouth and he couldn't speak, but Carson was an FBI agent. If he could just ask for help . . . Carson smiled again and reached out and took his hand. "I like you, Robert. Such a pity." And he could see it coming and he tried to grab his hand back but Carson was just too strong and Rusty was just too weak and the pencil stabbed through him again, and this time Carson just didn't stop, and he could feel it as the pencil went right the way through his hand and scraped into the concrete below. And it hurt so much, and there was a _pencil_ sticking through his _hand_, and he could see just by looking that it was never going to heal, and he wanted to scream, but Felding was there and he knew what happened if he made too much noise.

"Please," he whispered instead.

Carson smiled and leaned forwards, his face hideously close to Rusty's. "He doesn't care about you," he said softly and he looked over to where Danny stood next to Linus. They were laughing together and wouldn't even look his way. Linus was holding the balloons that they'd got to cover the camera. He'd wondered what had happened to them.

And then Danny did look over to him, and there was a sudden agony in his shoulder as Felding sunk his teeth in as hard as possible, and there was no emotion in Danny's eyes. None at all. But then he must have managed to make some sort of noise, some sort of plea because suddenly Danny's face was twisted with disgust in a way that Rusty had never seen before. "Have you looked in the mirror recently?"

Rusty hadn't.

"Can't expect you to be on the top of your game," Danny went on.

Rusty wasn't.

"Pathetic." Carson offered cheerfully and Danny agreed.

Felding wasn't there anymore and that meant that Rusty should get up, should try to run while he could, but it hurt so much and there was so much blood and he just couldn't move. His head sunk back down onto the concrete. "Danny," he whispered and his voice might have been pleading and it might have been whining but either way he hated it.

And then - miraculously, if he was inclined to believe in that sort of thing - there was a hand, stroking his hair. Tenderly. Lovingly. "Go to hell in your own way." And this time it didn't sound bitter. This time it sounded like absolution. Like _permission_.

He tried to look up, to see if Danny really meant it, but somehow the hand travelled lower and the caress got rougher, and it wasn't Danny anymore. "Come on. You know you like it really." And there was the usual amusement in Moffatt's voice, and Rusty started struggling, desperate to get away, even as he felt Moffatt kneeling on his legs, and he knew that he was trapped and he felt Moffatt forcing his arms behind his back and he _knew _what was coming next . . .

"Rusty." Linus sounded concerned. Rusty twisted his head round. The kid didn't _look_ concerned. He looked bored.

"Rusty." And he'd said _that _without moving his lips.

He frowned, because this didn't make sense, and Linus said his name again and someone was shaking his arm and suddenly the grey concrete prison faded, and he was lying on a sofa with Linus and Yen staring down at him.

Right. Not prison. He managed to relax a little and flexed his hand. It still worked. And everything else had stopped hurting. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. This was real. Los Angeles. Lenny Karowitz. The other Benny and his wedding ring. He'd been checking the plans for a good way into Lenny's room. (Air ducts. Bathroom.) Must have fallen asleep. He hadn't meant to; if he slept then he dreamt. He hadn't found a way to escape that.

Linus and Yen looked frightened. Keeping his breathing under rigid control he smiled up at them. "What?" He really hoped that he hadn't been talking in his sleep or anything that would be too difficult to explain.

"You were having a nightmare. We couldn't wake you." And Linus' voice was shaking more than his had.

He shrugged and ignored the fact that he was trembling. "Don't remember."

Linus looked sceptical. Yen flat out called him a liar.

He smiled some more and stood up, stretching. For a terrible, long moment he was afraid his legs weren't going to hold him. "Anyone else hungry?"

"Rusty." Linus sounded hesitant. More than usual. "Are you okay?"

The look that Yen gave him was almost funny. Seemed like he wasn't the only one who thought that was a stupid question.

"I'm fine. Going to take a shower." He headed towards the bathroom and ignored the less-than-bilingual argument that was breaking out behind him.

He kept the water slightly hotter than he could bear and scrubbed at his skin with his fingernails but he still didn't come clean.

* * *

Linus tried to concentrate on what was going on at the table. The trouble with that was he already knew how they were going to fall; Rusty was dealing and they'd spent the afternoon memorising the pattern. Apparently Rusty didn't like too many uncontrolled variables. Although there had, just once, been the slightest hint of something in his eyes, and Linus wondered if maybe he found cards relaxing. He was beginning to suspect that would be a good thing.

He kept thinking back to the nightmare that they'd eventually managed to wake Rusty out of that morning. It had taken . . . a long time. Too long a time. After Yen had come and got him, and he'd seen Rusty hunched up on the sofa, as though he was trying to make himself as small as possible, and he'd never seen so much pain on anyone's face. For a couple of seconds he'd just stood there with no idea what to do. Then he'd tried calling Rusty's name, and that had just made Rusty turn away and screw his eyes up tighter. And when he'd reached out and tried to shake him awake, Rusty had flinched away from his hand as if burned him. Even when he'd opened his eyes he'd sat staring blankly ahead of him for long enough that Linus had been left hysterically wondering what the hell they were supposed to do if he didn't snap out of it. And then he'd simply smiled up at them and it had been as if he thought that they would just forget about it if he acted normal enough. And the act had been frighteningly good. Far too good, actually.

Looking across the table – casually, because no matter what he was scared of, they were still in the middle of a job – he studied Rusty. Or at least he tried to. But the thing was, Rusty was pretending to play a part for him while really playing a part for Lenny, and if Linus was right and he was playing a part _all the time_, then he wasn't even sure that he knew what to look for. There was probably someone real there somewhere, but Linus didn't know where to begin. And in the meantime Rusty was relaxed and smiling and there was no sign that Linus could see that this wasn't genuine happiness.

Biting back a sigh he signalled Trista, one of the waitresses stationed round the wall and leered at her when she came over. "Another drink, darling. And have one yourself."

"Certainly, sir," she said with a demure smile and she sashayed off to the bar.

Swinging back round to the table he grinned dopily. "That's some girl there," he slurred.

The two extras they'd recruited looked irritated. Rusty laughed slightly and nodded, and Lenny simpered ingratiatingly at him. "Going to do something about it?" he asked, with a suggestive gesture. "Nice piece of tail."

Linus carefully kept the disgust out of his eyes and reminded himself that Lenny would go along with anything that he said at this stage. That was the point. As far as Lenny was concerned, he and Rusty were out to keep Linus happy and keep him winning so that he'd be happy to stick more money in the pot. Still. From what Trista had said, Lenny didn't keep his comments just to times when he was pulling a con. "Wait and see, pal, wait and see," he said with a grin and threw in another hundred. "What've you got."

He made a show of looking round the table at each hand. "What, I win again?" he asked delightedly.

"Idiots luck," one extra muttered.

"I am no idiot," he declared, waving his arms and very nearly banging into Trista, returning with his drink. Club soda and lime. Looked like alcohol and wasn't. "This, this is skill." He drained the glass and beamed up at Trista. "Thanks, darling."

"Well, you're certainly having a lucky streak," Rusty smiled at him across the table. "Care to up the stakes?"

And at this point, drunk, and with a tidy pile of brand new cash in front of him, he was supposed to feel like nothing could possibly go wrong. "Sure," he grinned. Nothing would go wrong.

* * *

Yen dragged himself up the ventilation shaft and wondered exactly how it was that Rusty and Linus got to hang around in the VIP room of an exclusive club playing poker while he pulled himself through what felt like miles of cramped and dusty tunnels. There was definitely something wrong with this arrangement and he was going to waste no words telling them so on the drive back. In fact he was already rehearsing the speech in his head. Too bad it would be lost on Linus. The man didn't know how to listen.

Now Rusty knew how to listen. And he knew how to talk. Unfortunately it seemed as though he wasn't planning on doing either for his own benefit. And Yen hadn't known him for long, but he liked him, and he wanted to yell and explain the many, many ways in which Rusty was an idiot. But he'd tried doing that when he'd first realised that Rusty had started smoking and Rusty had smiled and listened to every word and there'd been ice behind his eyes. Apparently it wasn't Yen that should be calling Rusty an idiot. Maybe he'd try yelling at Danny instead. Or Saul. Or Reuben. Maybe he'd just write out a list.

Finally he found himself at the right opening and he carefully unscrewed the ventilation cover and caught it before it fell. Squeezing through the opening took a bit of effort, and his shoulders were probably going to hurt for a day or so, but he was in the room and that was the main thing. Well. He was in the bathroom. Which had a much bigger tub than the one downstairs. Maybe he should tell Rusty. Get him to complain to the management. Get some of their money back. That is, if they were actually paying. That point had been a little unclear.

With a shake of his head he padded out into the main room. Now, if he was a trophy box, where would he be? Not quite a needle in a haystack; thanks to Rusty he had a very clear description. Little wooden box with a carving of an elephant on top. Ugly. Somewhere in the room.

At least he had plenty of time to search. The poker game was likely to last a while. Checking his gloves, he got to work.

He started by rifling through the nightstand, but the only thing of any interest there was a magazine with half the pages bent back. Curiously he picked it up and gazed at the picture it fell open to. After a few minutes he held it upside down. Then he turned his head to one side and squinted. No. He still couldn't see quite how it worked. Shaking himself he quickly replaced it and went to check somewhere else.

The room safe was hanging open and there was absolutely nothing in there. Either this guy wasn't afraid of burglars or someone had got there before him. Which would be amusing, though he doubted that Linus for one would see the funny side. Rusty might.

The wardrobe held a few genuine fashion disasters, but nothing that came even close to being what Rusty had described. It occurred to him that they were working on intelligence that was more than four years old and he swore softly to himself.

With a grimace he sat down on the sofa. Those were the obvious places checked. Then he saw the newspapers spread out over the coffee table. And the lump beneath them. He reached beneath and pulled out the wooden box. Oh. Never discount the idea that something's even more obvious than you'd think.

He flipped the lid open and was confronted with a range of jewellery and trinkets. Shrugging he tipped them all out on the table and sorted through the rings. The other Benny had described it to them in what had seemed like excruciating detail. Gold. Thick. Expensive. Engraved with a soppy message. And currently in his hand. He smiled and slipped it into his pocket. Then he picked up a Rolex and looked at it thoughtfully. Well. Why not? He tried it on and gazed at his wrist admiringly. Now that was stylish.

As he headed back to the bathroom and the ventilation shaft he wondered if Rusty and Linus were getting on as well.

* * *

They were nearly done, which was just as well as Rusty was honestly getting more than a little bored of Lenny smirking at him every time he thought that Linus couldn't see.

Still, all of Linus' money was on the table now, and rather more importantly, all of Lenny's money was as well. According to the enquiries he'd made this should be enough to wipe Lenny out. For a few weeks, anyway. That was the problem with people like Lenny; they always, always bounced back.

Last hand was playing out. Just Linus and Lenny. And that meant they'd be back in the Bellagio before the night was out and hopefully he'd be able to get some sleep before having to smile and lie to anyone else. He leaned back and watched.

"Full House. Tens over Fives," Lenny was, naturally, triumphant as he reached for the money. Helped to think you couldn't lose.

"Wait, wait, wait," Linus laid his cards down with a flourish. "Queens over Threes. I win, I think."

Lenny stared at Linus' cards, and honestly the rampant disbelief wasn't in the least bit subtle. As Linus started scooping up the money and chattering excitedly about the night he'd had, Lenny turned to glare at Rusty.

He was ready. Staring at the cards and his hands as if he just couldn't understand what had happened. As if his fingers had slipped and he'd dealt Linus a Queen instead of a Jack. As if he could.

"You asshole," Lenny hissed quietly. "You stupid, stupid asshole."

"I don't . . . " He shook his head and stared wide-eyed at Lenny. "I never . . . what happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened." And Lenny's voice was raised, and the bouncer on the door took a couple of steps forwards. "You're washed up. You spent too long in prison peddling your ass for cigarettes."

He only froze for a fraction of a second, he'd swear. But he did freeze and it took him so much to force himself to believe that it was just an insult with nothing behind it.

"Hey, come on, there's no call for that," Linus interrupted. And that wasn't the plan. The kid was supposed to shut up and get out. "I won, fair and square. Why don't I buy you a drink, sort of make it up?"

_Not_ the plan. "This is none of your fucking business, boy." He turned on Linus, quick and furious and he was relieved when Linus took a quick step back before he grabbed the money and left. One problem solved.

Lenny was grinning. "What, did I touch a nerve or something?" he asked. Rusty sighed, drew his fist back and hit him. The bouncer didn't grab him until a second after Lenny's nose broke.

He didn't struggle as he was dragged through the bar, Lenny's muffled and bitter complaints echoing behind him. Once they were outside he looked up at the bouncer and shook his head. "Karl, you were supposed to grab me _before_ I hit him."

Karl smiled almost apologetically. "Sorry Rusty. But if I don't get to hit him, I wanted someone to."

That was actually understandable. He pulled out a bundle of notes and slipped it into Karl's pockets. "Next time, stick to the plan," he said, but he was looking at Linus. Trouble was, Linus was looking at him. And he really didn't like that expression.

At least the kid waited until Karl stepped back inside before he bit his lip and quietly said "Rusty – " in the sort of tone that was obviously building up to a serious conversation.

" – No," he interrupted, immediately and firmly. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

But Linus was still looking at him with wide eyes, and he was Bobby and Molly's kid and he'd been taught by Danny. What he knew about giving up could probably be written on a postage stamp. "Just, you know, if you ever need to talk . . . " he trailed off and Rusty glared at him. Just a little.

"I don't," he said. He was clear on that. "And whatever you're thinking, I don't want you talking to anyone else about it. Okay?"

"Okay," Linus promised hesitantly and with a mental groan Rusty realised that he was lying.

"Come on," he sighed. "Let's find Yen and head back."

Yen would be telling Livingston about the nightmare. And Linus would be telling God-knows-who about God-knows-what.

Oh well. One more bridge to burn when he came to it.

* * *

**Well, at least it was a quick update, right? **


	22. Chapter 21

**Thanks in this go to ParisAmy who pointed out something obvious and made this chapter much, much easier to write.**

* * *

"Can you hold these?" Livingston asked, his voice icily polite, and Danny found himself with an armful of wires and random pieces of electronics. He couldn't help but get the impression that Livingston wasn't exactly happy with him. And what was worse, he couldn't exactly blame him.

He stood in silence and watched Livingston work and found himself thinking about other times when it would have been Rusty standing where he was, listening to unending techno-babble, while Danny sat on the sofa, watching and smirking. They should have been wrapped up in conversation; exchanging glances that went over Livingston's head, and jokes that didn't. Instead he was here, holding a load of stuff he didn't understand and being ignored by a Livingston who quite possibly hated him. And Rusty was far away.

Rusty had been gone for nearly two days and Danny couldn't bear it. They'd been apart for over four years – hell, they weren't together now – and so he was pretty sure that he shouldn't be spending every moment of the day thinking about him, wondering if he was all right, wondering what pointless favour the other Benny had sent him off to do, wondering when he'd be back. At least when he was here, even if they weren't exactly talking, he could see that Rusty was alive and well. (_Or at least alive_.) But this was his choice. And he was almost certain that it was the right one.

Livingston's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Can you pass me that board. Please."

He looked down at the pieces of circuitry he was holding. "Uh . . . "

With a sigh Livingston stood up and grabbed the bit of whatever he was looking for from Danny. "This would be a lot easier if someone hadn't sent Rusty away," he muttered.

Danny kept his temper with an effort. "We needed the chips."

"You were rude," Livingston pointed out. Which was true. "Since when do you talk to anyone that way, Danny? Especially Rusty."

Since the need to protect him became quite so overwhelming. He shrugged and said nothing and watched Livingston's eyes cloud with disappointment. This wasn't the first time he'd had this conversation. And he'd done just as little to explain himself to Saul and Reuben. They'd been equally disappointed in him, but a little more convinced that there was something behind it all. Some grand reason that justified everything. He'd looked away and said nothing.

Livingston was frowning at him. As if he was struggling to understand something just outside of his comprehension. "Just, you know, whatever happened to 'I just don't think he should be on his own'? What happened to caring?"

"He's a grown man. He can deal with his own problems." He had to force the words out of his mouth and they hurt like he couldn't believe.

With a sigh, Livingston turned back to his work and Danny watched in silence for a long time and thought about endless days of wit and wonder and smiles that didn't fade.

"Done," Livingston said eventually, backing away from the monitors.

Danny stared, not doubtful exactly. Perhaps a little dubious. As far as he could see it was just a little plastic box with a couple of lights on top. "And that'll tell us when Carson's trying to cut our surveillance?" It was slightly beyond him. But if that's what Livingston said . . .

Livingston nodded. "Uh, yes. You see when Rusty told him the wrong frequency, it meant that we can detect when he's trying to block that frequency so . . . " He shrugged. "The lights light up."

"Huh." Danny accepted and nodded and didn't understand.

There was a knock at the door. Livingston jumped, dropped his screwdriver and went to open it. "Hi guys, when did you get back?" He sounded delighted. Danny closed his eyes and prepared himself.

"Just now," he heard Rusty's voice say.

"We figured we should check in and see if we missed anything," Linus added.

"Come in," Livingston invited.

Danny turned and, just as he had practiced a thousand times in his head, his eyes went straight to Linus. "How was the trip?" he asked with a smile that also took in Yen.

"Uh, fine," Linus said, but he looked awkward. "We got the chips sorted. They're arriving the day after tomorrow."

That should give them time. Not that he'd doubted it. He'd known that Benny could handle the job, and it wasn't as if either Rusty or Linus couldn't have dealt with everything else. "Good. What did he want you to do?"

"Oh, he'd lost his wedding ring to a guy called Lenny Karowitz."

"Lenny?" Danny blinked. Not someone he liked dealing with.

"Yeah, so Yen stole it back and me and Rusty cleaned him out at poker," Linus was smiling more than a little and with a pang Danny realised that he'd had fun. Well. Cons were supposed to be fun. Just that he couldn't really remember the last time . . .

He smiled broadly. "Sounds good." He hadn't looked at Rusty once since they came in. And Rusty hadn't said anything. But he could feel Rusty's eyes on him, thoughtful and . . . amused? That couldn't be good. Quickly he headed to the door. "Well, I need to go and check in with Frank," he lied, wildly, suddenly and skilfully. "See you guys later."

With a feeling of relief he sagged against the other side of the door. The less time he spent around Rusty the easiest this would be. Afterwards, he would explain and apologise and Rusty would forgive him before he'd even had a chance to make amends. Rusty always forgave him and Danny could always take that for granted. That's what made Carson right.

There would always be later, after all.

* * *

Saul leaned back on the sofa and sipped at the bitter coffee and tried not to worry. Unfortunately it was impossible. He'd spoken to Rusty a couple of times since he'd left. Each time the conversation had been short, and should have been satisfactory. There hadn't been the desperate and always unconvincing "I'm fine", and though it wasn't as if Rusty had been falling over himself to talk, he'd seemed just that little bit calmer, just that little bit more grounded. Honestly, he couldn't even begin to explain the nagging, lingering, feeling of extreme wrongness. But it was there. All the time.

"I think he's doing better," Reuben said, out of nowhere, and Saul wished that he lived in a world where he didn't immediately know who was being talked about. Where there was no-one that he was obviously agonising over.

"Hmm," he offered, an absent agreement. Because it certainly seemed as if Rusty was doing better.

"I mean, he was talking about meeting up with an old girlfriend after the job. That's got to be a good sign, right?"

Yes. It sounded like a good sign. "Hmm," he said again, noncommittally.

Reuben sighed. "So, you going to tell me what you know about where this whole thing with Rusty, Danny and Carson came from?"

Saul was saved from having to refuse to answer yet again by a knock at the door. Reuben sighed harder. With a relieved smirk Saul opened the door to Linus. Which meant that Rusty was back. Which was a good.

Linus stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"So how did it go?" Reuben asked expectantly.

"Fine," Linus said absently. "Got the chips."

"What did Benny want?" Saul put in, hoping that it had been nothing too difficult.

Linus pulled a face. "His wedding ring back. He'd lost it in a game of poker."

Reuben laughed. "Dumb schmuck."

"Yeah," Linus agreed. He hesitated. "I need to talk to you," he told Saul and then glanced uncomfortably at Reuben. "Alone."

"Okay, okay, I can take a hint already." Grumbling, Reuben left the room with a backwards look that told Saul that he'd be hearing all about this later.

He looked at Linus thoughtfully. "What's on your mind?"

Instead of answering Linus bit his lip and shook his head distractedly. Then he turned away and started pacing round the room and it was as if someone had opened a floodgate. "I really don't know if I should be telling you this, but I need to tell someone, and it's not like I like him exactly – though it's difficult not to, have you noticed that? – and Danny said I should keep an eye on him, and I did, and I'm worried, so I guess maybe I should be telling Danny but I don't know what he'd do about it, and I heard you talking to him and Frank said you were like . . . well. I just think maybe you should know, that's all." He looked at Saul expectantly.

With a deep breath and an admitted effort, Saul played the speech back through his head at a more reasonable pace. Right He thought he had a handle on most of it. "What happened?" he asked, cutting to the chase.

"It's about Rusty," Linus offered and stopped.

"I know that," Saul said patiently.

Linus paused for a long moment, to the point where Saul was considering glaring at him. "He fell asleep on the sofa at the hotel, and in the morning he was having a nightmare and we couldn't wake him."

That was disturbing but not exactly unexpected. Rusty had even told him that he was having trouble sleeping, though he'd said it was getting better.

But Linus wasn't finished. "And then when he did wake up, it was like he wasn't there, you know? Like he was somewhere else, and he couldn't see or hear us."

Saul inhaled sharply and thought of Danny saying how Rusty hadn't recognised him. Not necessarily time to start panicking, not quite, not yet, but worrying? Oh, he had that covered. But he'd had that covered for a while.

Linus looked at him awkwardly. "And then he sort of – froze – when Lenny said something."

"Said what?" he asked sharply.

"Uh, something about Rusty being washed up and about, um," Linus looked excruciatingly embarrassed and chewed on his lip, "Well, uh, he said something about Rusty peddling his ass in prison."

Saul froze. He could feel it. Ice spreading through his veins. Because all the reasons he could think of for Rusty to react like that were unspeakable.

Linus cleared his throat. "Um, I think he meant – "

" – I know what he meant!" Saul snapped at him, with a glare that was normally enough to level mountains. He calmed down, with an effort. It wasn't Linus' fault, after all. "I need to go. "

"Of course," Linus nodded, and looked relieved.

He paused in the act of opening the door. "Listen, don't – "

" – Don't worry about it and don't tell anyone else," Linus parroted in a sing song voice, and that had been pretty much what he was going to say. "I know. Believe me, I know."

He decided to leave that well enough alone. "Good," he nodded and headed for Rusty's room.

Livingston answered the door, unsurprisingly. He'd known there would be someone else there. Rusty was slouched on the sofa, apparently watching TV on Livingston's laptop.

"We need to talk," Saul said to the back of his head.

"Can't. Smoking man's in this one," Rusty answered vacantly. He didn't look round. Saul sighed with frustration; it was going to be that sort of conversation.

Livingston leaned over, hit pause and gathered up the laptop. "I'll see you later, Rus'." He looked meaningfully at Saul on his way out.

With a disappointed look, Rusty watched him leave. "So, what's up?" he asked Saul with a slight hint of irritation in his voice.

"How was the trip?" he asked casually. "Anything interesting happen?"

"Nothing in particular," Rusty shrugged.

He sat down on the edge of the sofa. "Linus said you had a nightmare?"

"Should have known." Rusty muttered. "It was just a bad dream, Saul." He paused and turned his head to look at Saul questioningly. "And that's not what you wanted to talk about, was it?"

"Lenny Karowitz," Saul began and then hesitated.

"The man's an idiot," Rusty said immediately.

"Of course." Saul would acknowledge that in a heartbeat. "But he made a joke about you" he felt his face twist with disgust "Selling yourself in prison, and I'm asking you . . . "

Rusty almost looked amused, but there was a blank look in his eyes and Saul could see that he knew where the conversation was going. "You're asking me _that_?"

"No. You know I'm not. I'm asking . . . " He stopped for a long moment and forced himself to breathe normally. This was probably the most difficult conversation he'd ever had. But he had to know, because he couldn't begin to help without knowing. Even if it hurt. Even if it hurt both of them. "I'm asking if anything happened while you were inside." He struggled to make the words formed. "I'm asking if you were – attacked."

"Of course not," Rusty looked as though he was trying to seem shocked by the very question, but there was a catch in his voice and his fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were showing white.

He reached out and laid his own hand on Rusty's and wished that he was wrong. "Rusty," he said, gentle and pleading and understanding.

There was a long, long silence. Finally Rusty looked up at him, his eyes clouded and desperate. "It only happened once, Saul."

As though that made it better.

"God." He closed his eyes and felt his heart break. "I'm sorry."

Rusty pulled his hands back. "So clichéd. I'd only been there a week. It was in the shower. He was bigger than me. Faster too. I . . . I couldn't make him stop, Saul. I couldn't . . . " He trailed off and shook his head furiously, his breathing harsh and uneven.

"It's all right," Saul soothed helplessly and he placed a gentle hand on Rusty's shoulder and squeezed. "It's all right." He wasn't sure if he was lying but they sat in silence for a long time and he watched Rusty struggle not to cry and he _wished. _

* * *

Rusty stared at the screen and vaguely wondered why, when their flashlights were always dying at the worst possible moments, they never thought to carry spare batteries.

Saul had stayed with him for most of the day and it had only been by keeping the conversation almost-but-not-quite normal that Rusty had eventually managed to persuade him that he was ever closer to being fine.

He hated this; Saul was one of the very few people in the world that it felt morally wrong to lie to. But he had to. The lie he'd told had left Saul horrified and heartsick – justifiably, he had to admit. And the truth was oh, so much worse. He had to protect the truth, he had to protect Saul and he had to protect himself. And he'd already had the lie prepared in case Danny asked. If he'd woven it to fool Danny, it could fool anyone.

And it was important that he fooled Saul. Because the way things stood, in all probability, Saul was going to insist that Rusty stay with him when the job was done. And that wasn't an option. He had to make Saul think that he was fine to be by himself so that he could leave. He smiled slightly to himself. He'd skip the country, go somewhere his fingerprints weren't on record. South, probably. Find someplace where no-one would kick up a fuss. Lose everything that could possibly identify him. Have one, last, relaxing evening. Tequillas at sunset, maybe. Then – the pills, and he could rest and no-one would ever find out.

"Rus'? You okay?" Livingston was looking at him worriedly and he realised that his eyes had drifted away from the screen.

He grinned. "I'm fine."


	23. Chapter 22

**I have nothing interesting to say.**

* * *

Danny was slumped on the sofa, staring at a blank TV screen. He reached for his wineglass and discovered it was empty. Mechanically he poured himself some more. Then he refilled the _other_ glass and, as always, tried to ignore the emptiness next to him.

He'd been sitting there for hours and might have sat for hours more if it hadn't been for the knock at the door, which came twice before he managed to summon up the energy to get up and find out who it was.

Rusty. Fuck.

Automatically he looked past him, down the hallway, checking.

"I gave Reuben the slip," Rusty told him, understanding immediately what he was looking for. "We need to talk."

Danny looked at him for a long moment and wondered if he could somehow deny that. If he could – justifiably, in the name of keeping them safe – just close the door in Rusty's face and go back to his nothing.

He sighed and stepped aside and Rusty followed him in.

Rusty's eyes immediately took in the two wine glasses and Danny felt the beginnings of a painful embarrassment until Rusty frowned and said "You got company? I could come back."

Danny's immediate relief at the fact that Rusty hadn't got it was almost instantaneously overwhelmed by his grief at the fact that _Rusty hadn't got it. _"It's fine," he forced himself to say and he watched Rusty nod and accept it.

"We need to talk," Rusty was looking at him carefully.

He nodded. "You said."

There was silence as Rusty rubbed at the corner of his mouth. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave," he said eventually.

Impatiently Danny glanced at the wine glasses again. "I already told you I don't have . . . " His mind suddenly caught up. "You mean leave Vegas? The job?"

"Yeah." Rusty looked away.

Danny shook his head slowly. "I don't . . . what are you thinking?"

Rusty sighed. "I'm crazy, I'm not stupid." And Danny opened his mouth to protest but Rusty kept right on talking. "You're not listening to what I have to say. And sending me away on a wild goose chase?"

It hadn't been a wild goose chase. Not completely. "We needed – "

" – I had other resources," Rusty pointed out. "Ones I could have tapped with just a phone call."

" . . . I know." Danny said quietly.

"Do you?" Rusty was staring at him now, and he didn't understand and he didn't like the way this was going.

"What?" he asked, incredulous.

Rusty abruptly turned away from him and started pacing. "It seems to me as if you kn . . . as if you _think _that I'm not up to the job anymore."

"That's ridiculous," Danny found himself saying.

"Really, – " Rusty began.

" – what, you want me to massage your ego – " he cut in.

Rusty ignored him. " – Because four years is a long time." Eternity, Danny thought. "And it's not as if I had any chance to practice, and you said in the bar – "

" – I was lying," Danny pointed out. "You know I was lying." Please know I was lying, he thought, desperately.

He wasn't even sure if Rusty had heard him. " – And we both know that I'm not what I used to be so, really, if you can't trust me – "

" – _I have to keep you safe!_" Danny yelled helplessly.

There was a long pause. Rusty flopped down on the sofa, reached into his jacket pocket and lit a cigarette. "What did Carson say to you?" And his voice was casual but his eyes were hard and they never left Danny's face.

Danny stared at him. "You knew," he said slowly.

Rusty shrugged. "Guessed."

""You knew what it was about and you let me think that you thought – " He shook his head.

" – If you didn't think that you could use me you wouldn't be tiptoeing around. You'd have sent me away from the start, probably tapped Bobby or someone to keep an eye on me to appease Saul." Rusty's voice was matter-of-fact. Danny hated it.

"When, exactly, did your opinion of me get so low?" he asked, helplessly.

Rusty blinked at him, confusion in his eyes. He shook his head dismissively. "What did Carson say to you?"

Danny sighed and sat down on the sofa, beside him and miles apart. "He said if I tried anything clever he'd destroy everything I cared about." His mouth twisted. "And that he'd have fun doing it."

"He would," Rusty told him quietly.

He'd figured that. "Thanks."

Rusty leaned back, his eyes distant. "Tess – "

He shook his head. " – Not answering my calls."

"You need to – "

" – I know."

Rusty nodded. "The others – "

" – Well, the photographs," he pointed out. "Which – "

" – We'll take care of," Rusty agreed. "And afterwards – "

" – scatter until we know it's safe. Yeah." That had always been in the plan.

"And that only leaves me. And you know he can get to me." Rusty's head was leaning on the back of the sofa, his eyes closed.

"Rus' . . . " He trailed off.

Rusty carried on talking, his voice coming from very far away. "So, what, you thought that if everyone thought you don't care about me then he'd just leave me alone? Carson already knows you don't. It won't make a difference."

_Thinks_, not _knows_, he wanted to scream. But he didn't. "I can't let him – "

" – You're not the only one he's interested in." Rusty interrupted. "If and when he comes after me it's going to be as much about me as you. So don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it? "I'm not going to sit back and – "

Rusty's eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly and stared at Danny, something that might have been anger in his eyes. " – Not your responsibility. Don't fuck this thing up because he made you feel a little guilty."

His breath caught painfully. "You think this is about guilt?" he whispered.

There was a knocking at the door. Rusty stood up, his relief obvious. "Just leave it," Danny told him impatiently. There were more important things.

"Could be important," Rusty said, crossing the floor and looking through the peephole.

"It's probably Reuben looking for you," Danny pointed out. He couldn't imagine that Rusty's disappearing act had gone down well.

"It's Tess," Rusty announced and looked round expectantly at him.

Oh. For a long moment he considered leaving it anyway. But he needed Tess safe almost as much as . . . He sighed, stood up and crossed to the door. Rusty stood back.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Tess, her face contorted with fury, reached out and slapped Danny in the face. Hard. Danny was too surprised to do anything but blink stupidly at her. Because, okay, they hadn't exactly left things well, and she might have a right to be a little angry about her interrupted lunch with Benedict, but this? He'd never known her like this before. When she turned on Rusty and her hand flew back he came to his senses though and grabbed her hand long before it connected.

"What's going on, Tess?" he asked, releasing her hand

She glared at him. "You . . . and _him_." She jerked her head towards Rusty and Danny tensed, ready to intervene if she tried to hit him again.

"What did we do?" he asked, patient and confused.

"I should go," Rusty said quietly.

Danny nodded, despite the fact that he still felt as though he would like some friendly support. But Tess shook her head and blocked the door. "Oh, no. You're as much part of this as he is."

Instinctively Danny looked sideways, checking to see if Rusty understood any of this. Rusty shook his head minutely.

Tess laughed bitterly. "You just can't keep your eyes off each other, can you?" And that really hadn't been their problem lately. "I can't believe I was so blind."

"What are you talking about?" Danny frowned, but he was beginning to wonder.

"I know." She took a deep breath and her eyes flashed. "I know everything."

"I don't," Danny said firmly.

She clenched her fists at her sides and he realised she was feeling as much humiliation as anger. "You don't need to pretend anymore. Your friend told me everything. Our marriage was a sham. All the time you were with _him_."

Oh, hell. How could she believe that? He felt an irrational flash of anger that she could so easily mistrust everything that they'd ever had. "Tess. That's not true. You know that's not true. Me and Rusty were never like that."

"Oh, that's what I thought." She exhaled with an almost-sobbing sound, and instinctively he took a step towards her, desperate to offer comfort. But with a gesture she warded him off. "That's what I always thought. What I always told people. But it wasn't true, _was it?_ He showed me. He had _pictures._"

"Who?" he asked, automatically.

She glared at him. "Your friend. Your surveillance man."

"_Livingston?_" Danny asked, incredulously.

"Tess has met Livingston," Rusty pointed out quietly. Tess turned her head and stared at him, and Danny thought that she'd probably forgotten that he was there. He'd been doing a good job of vanishing into the background.

Tess shook her head angrily. "What does it matter who it was?" she demanded.

"Well, we'd quite like to know who's spreading lies about us," Rusty said calmly.

"The man I saw you with the other day," Tess answered, seemingly responding to the calmness. "The one in the stairwell."

Rusty nodded and turned to Danny. "Carson," he explained simply.

"Carson?" Danny blinked and then something occurred to him. "Wait, Tess was there, and you didn't think to get her to call me?"

"Right." Rusty smiled slightly. "Because he wouldn't have found that suspicious at all."

"What's going on?" Tess demanded.

Danny sighed. "Carson's the guy I told you about, remember? The one who tried to arrest me. He's using you. He faked those photos."

She paused and actually seemed to consider. Which was good. "Why would he do that?"

"He's not a terribly nice person," Rusty said lightly and Danny turned to stare at him incredulously. Not a terribly nice person. Right.

He shook his head. "He must have known I'd want to get you out of town," he explained. "Make sure you were safe."

"Safe?" She frowned, worry in her voice despite everything. "Danny . . . "

Not the sort of explanation he really wanted to embark on. He spoke quickly. "Guess he thought that if you thought me and Rusty were . . . well. That you'd be less inclined to listen."

"No." She shook her head. "I saw. I don't believe you."

He sighed. "And what, you think it's more likely that me and Rusty were sneaking around behind your back through our entire marriage?"

"You _were _sneaking around behind my back, remember?" Ouch. Good point. "Who's to say you weren't sleeping together as well? God, the amount of times I woke up in the middle of the night, and you weren't there, and you said you'd got up to watch a movie with him."

"And you think we were actually having sex?" He raised his eyebrows. "You don't think you'd have noticed?"

"You could have learned to be quiet. And we all know you've got experience at hiding evidence." Her voice was bitter and that was an argument he didn't want to have again.

He lowered his voice and looked at her calmly and sincerely. "Tess. I've never slept with Rusty. Rus', tell . . ." He turned to appeal to Rusty, but Rusty was standing staring into space his eyes blank. "Rus'." Concerned he reached out a hand towards him, ignoring Tess' huff of annoyance, because even if in the circumstances this might look bad, Rusty fading out like that was worse, and he didn't know what had happened, and that was frightening. And it hurt in so many ways when Rusty immediately and casually stepped away from him. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Rusty smiled distantly. "Of course," Danny bit his lip in frustration and watched as Rusty turned round to look at Tess, who was frowning and suddenly seemed more puzzled than angry. "I've never had sex with Danny, Tess."

She stared at him, and Danny wondered why his wife thought Rusty was more credible. His ex-wife. That might be it, of course. "But the picture . . . " she protested weakly.

"What did it show?" Rusty asked.

"It was at the wedding. You were kneeling down in front of Danny and you were sucking his . . . " Incredibly, she actually blushed. Danny almost found that amusing until he saw that the distant look was back in Rusty's eyes.

Before he could say anything though, Rusty managed to get control of himself. "At your wedding?"

"Yes," she nodded and there was anger in her voice again. Not that Danny could blame her. Their wedding? If he didn't already have a hundred reasons to hate Carson, that would have done it.

"Tess, look at me," Rusty said gently and she did. "Even leaving aside the fact that we don't, haven't and wouldn't do that, can you honestly tell me that you think Danny would do that to you? At any time, but especially at your wedding? You were together for a long time; you know he loves you. Can you honestly tell me that you think all of that was a lie?"

"He's good at lying," Tess said quietly, but Danny could tell that she was almost convinced.

"He wasn't lying about that." Rusty glanced sideways at him, apology in his eyes. "You _know_ what happened when you left him. You think anyone would have gone through that if he didn't love you?"

Danny's jaw clenched. He wished Rusty hadn't resorted to that particular argument; he didn't want to remember those days of self-destruction that he'd thought were hell, until they were over and he learned that hell was trying to live with half your soul lovingly ripped away.

Tess stared at the floor, old guilt written on her every feature. "No." It was inarguable.

Danny stepped forwards. "Carson faked that photo, Tess," he told her sincerely and for the first time in a while she turned and looked him in the eyes.

She nodded slowly. "I believe you."

He was aware that Rusty had stepped back and was once again doing his extraordinary best to pretend that he wasn't there. And he was unhappy with that, but for the moment he focussed on Tess. "He wants to use you to get at me. He's . . . " He hesitated, not wanting to scare her, but needing her to understand. "He's a little vindictive," he finally settled on.

"But you said he was out to arrest you," she frowned. "So he's police, right?"

"FBI, actually," Danny corrected.

She still looked confused. "So there are rules, and if he doesn't' follow them you can report him."

"He's not really about the rules." He could feel his mouth twisting with irony. "He's blackmailing us into stealing something for him." That was a misleading, simplified version. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. Not exactly, anyway.

"That's entrapment." She looked shocked. "That's illegal."

"He's not really about legal, either," Danny said and his eyes slid towards Rusty, remembering the blood and remembering the bruises and remembering the pain.

Of course he should have remembered that Tess knew him as well. She followed his gaze. "You said you wanted me safe," she said slowly. "And you said he's vindictive." She paused. "He's just blackmailing you, right? He isn't violent?" Her voice trembled and she turned to stare at Rusty. "On the stairwell, when he said you had to go with him, for a second I thought you were scared." Her eyes were wide, and she sounded upset and frightened. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Rusty grinned at her reassuringly and his voice was rich with amusement that Danny didn't share. "You've been watching too many films, Tess."

She sagged with relief. "Good."

Danny reached out and clasped her hand. "Tess," he said quietly. "I need you to leave town. Please."

To his relief she nodded slowly. "Okay, Danny."

"Tonight, preferably," he clarified.

She nodded again. "As soon as I tell Terry." Her eyes widened. "I told Terry you were a thief."

He blinked. "What?" he asked incredulously. Because that was something that hurt her as much as him, and even when they'd divorced she'd always been adamant she'd never tell.

"I was angry because of . . . " She twisted her hands together and he got it. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he told her automatically, already trying to deal with the implications. If Benedict knew he was a thief, he was going to come under suspicion. And that wasn't good. Last thing they wanted was to cloud the waters.

"And you could do so much better than Benedict, you know," Rusty spoke up surprisingly.

With a frustrated sigh, she rolled her eyes at him. "Right. I've already heard this one from Danny. Because he's ruthless and unprincipled, right?"

"No," Rusty shrugged. "Because he's boring."

She stared at him for a long moment, and for the first time since she'd stepped into the room her face broke into a smile. To Danny's astonishment she stepped forwards and kissed Rusty chastely on the lips. "Goodbye, Rusty." Then she turned round. "Take care of yourself, Danny." She embraced him tightly and one last time he revelled in the warmth of her body, in the smell of her hair. Just before she reluctantly let go, she leaned up and whispered in his ear. "Take care of him, too."

He was almost too overcome to smile at her as she stepped back and he had to fight back the lump in his throat as he watched her walk out of the door and out of his life. '"Bye, Tess," he managed, thickly.

When the door was closed, he collapsed on the sofa and drained the nearest glass of wine. "You want?" he asked Rusty, gesturing to the other one, and, when Rusty shook his head, he drank that one too.

"You okay?" Rusty asked, tentatively.

He shook his head. "Don't know." He wasn't in love with her anymore. But he still loved her. And no matter how many times he watched her walk out, even now, when it was at his request, it hurt. He sighed and changed the subject. "Benedict knows."

"Bruiser's still a good alibi," Rusty pointed out. "Even Benedict would have to concede you can't have been robbing him if you're getting the crap beaten out of you."

True. "You lied to her about Carson," he observed.

Rusty shrugged. "Not exactly. And so did you."

He nodded. There were things that Tess didn't have to know. And maybe there were things that he _did_ have to know. "You lied to _me_ about Carson."

"We've already talked about this," Rusty said wearily.

"No. We haven't." He looked at Rusty determinedly. "I'm not talking about what you let me think. I'm saying you _lied_ to me."

He was watching carefully and the look of complete puzzlement on Rusty's face didn't seem to be feigned. "What?"

"You said he didn't hurt you. The second time." Danny didn't even dare blink, but there was no hint of guilt, no flash of relief, just more confusion.

"He didn't," Rusty said with a frown.

"Your arm," Danny pointed out, and when Rusty still just stared blankly at him, he stood up and pulled Rusty's sleeve up, revealing the fading, fingermark bruises.

Rusty stared down at his own arm for a long moment. "Oh," he said eventually. "I forgot."

"You _forgot_?" Danny asked incredulously. Forgot. As if it was nothing. As if it wasn't important enough to think of, let alone mention.

"Yeah." Rusty shrugged. "Come on, Danny, it's hardly worth making a fuss over."

He shook his head and tried to understand. "He left bruises."

"He wasn't trying to hurt me it was just . . . " He blinked and trailed off.

"What?" Danny demanded, urgent and intent.

"He . . ." He watched as Rusty bit into his lip. Hard. "I – _forgot_ – where I was. Like I did the other night, with you."

Oh, God. He imagined that in front of Carson. Maybe worse, even, than if Rusty had been alone. "Rus' . . . " He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to say and he didn't know what to do, and he hated it.

Rusty spoke quickly. "I've got it under control, Danny. Don't worry."

And if Rusty could explain just how he was supposed to do _that_. "You can't go on like this."

"I know," Rusty said, and Danny looked at him quickly, hopeful that there might be something, some willingness to accept help, to accept him, but Rusty's eyes were closed off and after a second he looked away from Danny.

There was silence for a long time, and Danny composed a thousand clever speeches in his head and none of them would work on Rusty. He sighed and looked up to see Rusty rubbing at the corner of his mouth. "What?"

"Carson's making his own porn" There was revulsion and pain in Rusty's voice and Danny blinked. Huh. He hadn't actually stopped to think of it that way; he'd been too busy thinking of the impact on Tess to consider how he felt about it. How they felt about it.

"Oh," he said, helplessly, with an internal shudder of violation.

Rusty stared at him and for once the walls seemed to be gone and the pain and misery was there for anyone to read, and it was almost more than Danny could stand. "I hate him, Danny."

Immediately, instinctively, he reached out to Rusty, intent on comfort, intent on reminding him who they should be. "Rus'."

And then Rusty stepped away from him and the walls were back up and his eyes were cold. "No."

Defeated, he dropped his hand. "It's not about guilt, Rusty," he said softly, his eyes pleading.

Rusty shook his head and looked away. "Sure, Danny." And he could tell when he was being humoured. "Look, I'm tired. I'll see you later, okay?"

Abruptly he headed for the door and for the second time that night Danny watched someone he loved walk out on him, and for the second time that night he felt like crying.

* * *

**Hope you liked that. Actually that might be the longest single scene I've ever written. **


	24. Chapter 23

**Warnings, for unpleasant subject matter.**

* * *

The paint flaked off under his fingernails as he dug his hand into the wall. Paint. Not cheap plaster and certainly not concrete. He opened his eyes slowly. He was in his room at the Bellagio. Terry Benedict's hotel. And he was gouging scratch marks into the paintwork. Huh. That probably wasn't going to be too popular with housekeeping.

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd got from walking out of Danny's room to leaning against the wall in his room. There seemed to be some time missing, which was about as far from good as could be.

Taking a couple of slow, shaky breaths he managed to stand up straight and stagger as far as the sofa before collapsing into a not-quite-shaking heap. Fuck. Never mind not getting better, he was getting worse. Had been since he came to Vegas. The memories had always been too close to the surface, but he was getting trapped more and more often; finding it more and more difficult to fight his way out. And he knew why. Of course he knew why. Because all of the memories – even the ones that seemed to be about blood and fear and shame and pain – were threaded through with crushing loneliness and the old feeling of rejection; justified, expected, even courted, but rejection nonetheless.

Being alone with Danny made it worse. Because being with Danny made him feel alive, and that _hurt;_ and being alone with Danny made him feel as though he should be letting Danny see everything. And that was the last thing that either of them wanted. Danny would understand that. Should understand that. If he thought about it.

With a shake of his head, he glanced at his phone. Four missed calls. Three messages. All from Reuben. Not that surprising. And he realised, with a start of surprise, that Reuben hadn't phoned Danny. Hadn't checked Danny's room. Not that he should have, of course, but it was still strange to realise that they weren't inextricably linked in people's minds anymore. He could remember one time, oh, maybe six years ago, when he'd been in Tokyo, getting into trouble and playing golf with Ryuichi's daughter – not, surprisingly, at the same time – and Danny had been supposedly safe back in New York. And despite the whole opposite-sides-of-the-planet thing, Phil had still called him, panic in his voice, demanding to know where Danny was. As if he could just somehow psychically _know_. Which he couldn't. But by the time he'd made ten phone calls, and had his cell phone confiscated by the air hostess on the flight back, he'd had a fairly good idea. And later there'd been a couple of moments of terror, and later still there'd been a thousand years of exhilaration. Fireworks in the desert. Dancing in the street. Those had been the good days. The best. And he could never be sorry. No regrets. Not ever.

Grimacing he hit the button and held the phone to his ear. Reuben's voice, just that little bit too pointedly casual. "Rusty? It's Reuben. You took off there. What, was I boring you? Come back or I'll show you my second wife's holiday pictures." And a pause. "You okay?"

He sighed and turned the phone off with an angry jab. Oh, he understood the solicitude. Even welcomed it at first. But there was a limit to how much fussing he could cope with. He needed his own space; couldn't stand being smothered. Being followed around like . . .

There was a flash of memory, of hands that wouldn't let go and eyes that followed him everywhere he went. He gripped the fabric of the sofa tightly. Softness. Nothing like this in prison. And it wasn't enough, because there were speculative looks, and sneering words, and curious, possessive fingers, and there was always worse lying in wait for him just around the next corner. He bit into the side of his mouth hard and tasted blood. The Bellagio, he told himself. Vegas and safety, more or less. After a long, long instant he managed to push the past back where it belonged and once again he was in precarious control of his nightmares.

When the shaking stopped, for the moment anyway, he glanced down at his phone and considered. But he wasn't going to call anyone at the moment. If he gave it a while, dropped off the radar a little, and came back right as rain and fully himself, then maybe everyone would back off a little. Besides, he'd wanted to do some more thinking about the office.

With a smile and a sudden, slightly dizzying feeling of momentum he ordered some room service and spread the latest round of plans over the table.

Twenty minutes had him chewing on his tongue in frustration. He still couldn't see it, and part of him wondered if it would have been obvious before. But no. This wasn't easy. The second site, oddly enough, was easy; they had a service lift and some easily-obtainable uniforms and a hotel pass key the provenance of which Reuben was being surprisingly secretive about. (And instinctively, when that had come up, he'd turned to look at Danny, watching for the amusement, for the acknowledgement that later, in private, there would be unending and slanderous speculation. Of course there'd been nothing. Which was as it should be.) But this place had good security. Funny, the last time he'd broken into Carson's office had been a lot easier. Too bad he had to go and relocate. Part of him was still wondering whether he should just give up; have them go in with Bureau IDs. But it they went down that route, then someone would point out that he'd almost certainly be recognised from the last couple of times he'd been brought into the building. And he had to be the one to search the office. He just had to be. Because no-one else needed to see those pictures.

The thought of the pictures threatened to disinter other memories, and he stared resolutely at the roof access and considered once again whether or not they could run the risk of landing on the helipad until he was safely on top again.

They'd need to make sure that either he or Danny found that picture that Carson had showed to Tess. Last thing Danny would need would be those rumours starting up again. And the very idea still had him close to gagging. Too easy to imagine Carson making it. Manipulating their images until he had something that he liked. And Rusty could imagine the smile he'd worn when he was satisfied, and he could picture the look in his eyes when he'd shown it to Tess. Just thinking about it made his skin crawl and he didn't know whether he was angry at Carson for, well, everything, or at himself for reacting in a way that he knew full well would delight Carson, if he ever found out.

And of course Carson had got inside his head. Under his skin. Even now he wasn't sure if some of his fears, his doubts, came from himself or from the outside. Because Carson had said what he was thinking. He just wasn't sure if he'd thought it first. When that cloying voice had said all his friends were ashamed of him - he'd _known_ that wasn't true. They weren't ashamed. But embarrassed? Pitying? Fuck, contemptuous? It wasn't like he could blame them; pathetic was one of the nicer words he'd be inclined to use to describe himself these days. And he caught himself measuring every word and every action by the standards Carson had set, and he hated that. He hated everything about the man.

The problem was, Carson had got inside Danny's head too. He'd realised that almost as soon as he'd seen that Danny was trying just a little too hard to ignore him. And he could imagine the insinuations and suggestions that had left Danny feeling pointlessly guilty, and hell, his own presence was probably bringing up enough memories and old emotions to give Carson all the openings he'd ever need. It was all just guilt. Whatever Danny was thinking, it wasn't real. They were through, and he was done _needing_.

It would be easier on Danny when he'd gone. Well. As long as Danny never, ever found out _where_ he'd gone. Stupidity wasn't one of his failings and no matter how far apart they'd grown if Danny knew he was dead, it would hurt him. And if he knew he'd taken his own life . . .actually he had no idea how Danny would react. Not now. He could barely imagine how Danny would have reacted back then – all blank grief and uncomprehending rage. But things had changed, and it would be easier when Rusty wasn't hanging round as a constant reminder of exactly what they'd had and exactly what Rusty had torn down.

There was a knock on the door. He blinked, stood up and crossed to the door and gave the room service guy a bright smile and a fifty dollar tip. The door closed behind him and he dropped the food onto the table and sighed; he just wasn't hungry. Hadn't been for a while, but he'd known he should eat so he'd ordered the first things he'd thought of - grapefruit and goldfish crackers. Probably healthy enough to please Saul. Except, the thing was, Saul hadn't been nagging him to eat healthily lately. He'd just been nagging him to eat. So he didn't really know why he'd ordered the fruit. (_Didn't he?_) Biting his lip he picked up the knife and sliced through the peel and grimaced as the juice went everywhere. Not a problem you got with nachos.

Gripping the handle of the knife tightly, he stabbed at the fruit and worried. Okay, so he'd been playing Danny with the 'maybe I should leave' bit, but if he had to be honest, right now he was as much a liability as an asset. And maybe he should be thinking about walking. If Tess repeating allegations about him and Danny was enough to set him off, then he had no business being involved in this job. Though it hadn't been the allegation, exactly. "_You_ _could have learned to be quiet_" and he'd been back in a different place before he'd even had time to blink.

Because he _had_ learnt to be quiet. He'd learnt to be silent, no matter how much it hurt. Felding had taught him, in the darkened room below the kitchen, with patience, and brutality, and a length of rusted iron piping. He'd woken up in the infirmary with three days missing out of his life and a collection of scars that would never fade.

The overpowering smell of blood, the feeling of concrete on naked skin and he was losing himself again. He was back there, dying in a pool of his own blood, and it was like he'd never left (_and a part of him hadn't_.) With a sudden, desperate motion he squeezed the knife harder, and he stabbed it into his leg and _twisted_.

Pain rose up and brought blessed clarity and, momentarily frightened of what he'd done, he let go and stared down at his leg. The knife balanced ridiculously for a long moment, before it pulled its slow and agonising way out of his flesh and fell to the ground. He watched the rapidly spreading bloodstain. Oh. Well. That was one pair of pants ruined.

Oddly enough that was enough to get him moving. He leapt to his feet and stood, swaying and eyes closed tight, trying to keep his leg from buckling under him, because it was like a thousand burning needles flowing up the inside of his leg, and all he could think about was the pain . . . _All he could think about was the pain_. As it receded, slightly, his eyes shot open, and like a man prodding at a sore tooth, he reached back into the darker recesses of his mind and he _didn't get lost_. Oh, the memories were still there, but they weren't overwhelming him. They weren't waiting in the dark to ambush him. For the first time in a while, and certainly the first time that night, he could relax, and he was surprised to hear himself give a sob of relief. Because physical pain he could deal with. Physical pain he could lock down and control, and no-one else ever had to see it and no-one else ever had to pity him. His hand clenched hard over the wound, and pain raged through him like fire, and it was only partly about the instinctive human response to cover what hurt. Mostly it was all about the pain.

Okay. He had to settle down. There'd be time to celebrate later, and he could relax when he wasn't bleeding all over the carpet. Smiling to himself, he limped through to the bathroom and reached for the dressings that he'd got for his hand. So. Stop the bleeding, hide all the evidence – because somehow, however true it apparently was, he doubted that he could sell the others on the idea that him making holes in himself was a positive step – put on a dressing and pull the bandage tight. Tight enough so he could feel it when he walked. Tight enough that he'd be able to concentrate on the pain every time he was in danger of forgetting himself.

He grinned. Oh, he could work like this.

* * *

**Short chapter. Shrug. **


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long. Hope it was worth the wait.**

* * *

Danny closed the door behind him and sighed. No-one looked up. Linus, Turk and Virgil were engrossed in a game of cards, and Livingston was staring at the monitors and apparently playing hangman with himself.

Terry Benedict. Bastard. And, yes, it was just possible that a certain amount of this was the jealous ex-husband thing, and more of it was because he couldn't quite bring himself to be angry with Tess. (For this. There were other things that he hadn't even begun to deal with.) But Benedict had approached him, quietly and calmly, and it had been quite clear that he was convinced that Danny was planning something. And he supposed he had to give the guy credit for understanding the obvious. But when Danny had hinted that, actually, he'd just been here for Tess, it had been obvious that not only was Terry less than convinced, he also wasn't exactly happy that Tess was gone. Apparently it was real. Who'd have thought?

If Benedict was looking at him that way, then they'd need to start figuring out the implications. It wasn't like the phrase 'leave town and never come back' had actually been _used_, but it had definitely been floating in the air. There would be consequences. He sighed again, and this time Linus looked up.

"Is everything okay, Danny?" he asked.

Danny smiled easily. "Everything's fine. Where's Rusty? Need to talk to him about something."

Livingston looked round. "He's not back from that meeting with Roman, yet."

Oh. Danny frowned. Because he should have been. Even allowing for the fact that Roman would feel the need to explain just how clever he was, they should be done by now. He glanced over, but Linus and the twins were concentrating on their game again. "Who went with him?" he asked, and Livingston looked uncomfortable.

"Well, that is . . . it was going to be Basher," he stuttered.

Going to be . . . ? "What happened?"

Livingston bit his lip. "Well, Rus' smiled, and he sort of explained . . ._something_ . . . and suddenly he was gone and we hadn't actually objected."

"Livingston . . ." Danny sighed. But honestly, he wasn't terribly surprised. Even if he'd been understanding about it in the first place, Rusty was going to struggle with the idea of being under such close scrutiny. Little too confining. Always would have been.

He pulled out his phone and hit memory one, and tried not to think of how the slot had been blank for the past four years. It answered on the second ring, "Uh huh?"

Danny tried to keep his voice light. "Where are you?"

"Downstairs," Rusty answered immediately and he sounded close enough to normal – today's normal – that Danny relaxed.

There were voices talking and clinking glasses. "At the bar?"

"Yeah," Rusty agreed.

Danny found himself glancing over Livingston's shoulder, scanning the feed from the floor. Ah. There. He grinned at the combination of purple and green. "Like the suit. Very Joker."

There was a slight pause and then slight amusement. "Nicholson or Romero?"

"Animated series," Danny answered promptly.

"Huh." And tangled up in that was the almost-comfortable realisation that once upon a time they would have been going down the route of finding out just how many cartoons Danny normally watched.

Not the time or the place. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "We've got a problem with Terry Benedict."

"No shit," came the immediate rejoinder.

Danny grinned. "Funny. A new problem."

Rusty sighed. "Let me finish my drink."

And that probably meant . . . "Roman wanted to give you the full picture, didn't he?"

Rusty sighed again, and Danny watched on the screen as he rolled his glass against his temple. "He was very thorough."

"See you in a couple of minutes," Danny said cheerfully, and hung up.

* * *

Rusty slid the phone back into his pocket and resisted the urge to dig his thumb into the wounds on his thigh. Danny had sounded so normal and it hurt. Everything hurt. He'd had to use the knife twice more since that first time, and each time he'd sworn would be the last. Oh, he knew damned well that it was no sort of solution. Just a little trick of chemistry. Endorphins and adrenaline and he could fool his mind and body into thinking that the immediate, present danger was more real. And that wouldn't last for long. Already, that last time, this morning, before the meeting with Roman, he'd needed to put on a little more pressure. He'd dug the knife in that bit deeper and it had made him think of – though not, thankfully, relive – that time when Felding had held him down and showed him his technique for de-eying potatoes. Just a slight flick of the wrist and the little gobbets of flesh went flying. He'd stood for a long moment, knife held limply at his side, other hand automatically clamped over his leg to stem the bleeding, and he'd had to fight so hard not to be sick. Just the adrenaline, of course.

And he was breaking his promise to Saul. He knew that perfectly well, and it felt wrong in a way that few things ever did. It was a betrayal. Every time. Every time he even _thought_ of the knife. Every time he surreptitiously let his fingers dig into damaged flesh or put that extra bit of weight on the leg, to stop the past from hurting or to remind himself that he and Danny weren't . . . well. Weren't whatever they'd once been. Every single time, he imagined the look on Saul's face if he knew. The horror, the helplessness. (_The disappointment the pity._) And it never stopped him.

"You look deep in thought, Robert." The voice was cheerful and pleasant, and the smile was wide and genuine.

Rusty stared helplessly as Carson slid onto the barstool next to him. He hadn't heard him coming. And this wasn't supposed to happen.

"Oh, come now, Robert." Carson scolded. "You used to be more fun than this. Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?" He leaned in closer, smile still proudly in place. "Did you miss our little chats? I certainly did."

Okay. That _could _be it. Maybe. It was remotely possible that Carson had just seen an opportunity to torment and hadn't been able to resist. It fitted; he was a sadist. But in the circumstances, and bearing in mind that he thought that he was going to have all the time he'd ever need, when the job was done, to break Rusty down into as many pieces as he liked, there surely had to be something else. Unless . . .

* * *

Danny couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. Carson sitting next to Rusty was probably the sight that he least wanted to see in the world right now.

"Do we have sound?" Linus asked, and there was a note of fear in his voice.

Livingston was already playing with buttons and recrossing wires and Carson's voice suddenly flooded the room.

" _. . . Did you miss our little chats? I certainly did." _

Gritting his teeth, Danny reached for his phone, ready to tell Rusty to get out of there. But with his finger on the call button, he hesitated. Because why hadn't Rusty done that already?

"Danny, look!" Livingston pointed excitedly at what Danny privately termed the box-with-lights-on. The lights were flashing.

"Carson thinks he's blocking our signal?" Danny asked, but it wasn't a question because Rusty already understood that.

Livingston nodded. "Yes." He frowned. "Only I don't know why."

Danny did. "He's testing us."

"What?" Turk asked.

"He wants to know if the Verbal information is real," Danny explained dully. "So he's going to sit there, with Rusty, and try and force us to interfere. And the moment we do, he'll know we're setting him up."

"And we're fucked for tomorrow," Virgil finished tightly. "Bastard."

"So we abort, right?" Linus asked. "We're not just going to sit here and let him . . . Danny?"

Danny's eyes went back to the screen. To Rusty.

* * *

Rusty relaxed and smiled back at Carson. "About as much as I miss panpipe music. Has anyone ever told you you're a little annoying?" With everything he had and everything they'd ever been, he concentrated on broadcasting a message that would only ever be read by one person. _'I can handle it. Stay out of this. Don't do anything stupid.'_ They'd come too far to be beaten by something so small.

Carson looked approving. "That's better, Robert. And no, not in so many words. Not twice, at any rate."

Rusty laughed. "Bet when you were a kid you'd ruined all your Christmas presents by lunch."

Carson nodded thoughtfully. "I _do_ like to play roughly with my toys, Robert. As you well know."

* * *

Danny didn't let his reaction show. Not if he could help it. Not in front of anyone.

"Danny?" Livingston looked back at him anxiously. "What are we waiting for? What are we going to do?"

For a moment he hesitated. He'd read all the signals. Of course. Not that he could exactly explain what any of them were, or meant, but they were there and even though he and Rusty were broken and apart, he understood what Rusty was saying. '_Keep out of this. Don't do anything stupid. I can handle it. Nothing to lose, remember?_' And he wanted to pretend he hadn't understood, and charge in regardless, guns blazing, metaphorically or otherwise. Of course, he always would have. The urge to protect underlined everything. Thing was, now it came down to one simple question. Did he trust Rusty?

"Danny?" Linus prompted.

"We wait. Sit tight," Danny said heavily, and he pretended he didn't see their shocked, incredulous looks.

* * *

Rusty made a show of looking round. "No Rhino-boy today?"

For a second Carson looked puzzled. Then realisation dawned and he laughed. "Agent Hopper? There is a certain resemblance, isn't there? I must remember to tell him you said so. I'm sure he'll get a real kick out of it."

"Always pleased to entertain the Bureau, Harry," Rusty said lightly. "And speaking of, what can I do for you today?"

"You're remarkably upbeat for a man who is in the process of betraying the love of his life. But then, that's what I like about you." He paused, and Rusty tried not to shiver. "You do believe I like you, don't you Robert?"

"Yes." He couldn't explain it and he didn't want to, and he hated it more than he could ever say, but he believed it.

Carson smiled and went on. "I like the way that no matter what I do, no matter how I break you, you always somehow manage to scrape yourself back together. How do you do that, I wonder?"

"Practice," he said shortly, because it was slightly true and because Carson would be expecting the fracture, and because Danny would hear the other level.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Carson paused, and then he looked Rusty straight in the eyes. "Mind you, I also liked the feeling of you beneath me, crying and begging me. Do you remember that, Robert? The last time we met. Do you remember?"

Rusty didn't pause. Couldn't pause. Because if he stopped and let himself feel the words he was lost. "What would you do if I said no?"

And that had been a mistake. He knew that even before the teeth glinted cruelly. "Why, I'd do it again. Reduce you to a snivelling wreck, right here in public."

"Really." And his voice was pleasingly sceptical.

"We both know I could, don't we Robert?." There was no doubt. No annoyance. Just amusement. Because they did both know. And now Danny knew too, and more than anything that made him want to scream.

He shrugged. "Wasn't arguing with that. Just that that kind of scene, well. It doesn't exactly fit your plans either, does it?"

"Unfortunately not," Carson agreed with a sigh.

"Drink?" Rusty offered, signalling the barmaid.

"Thank you." And there was that amusement again. How he hated it.

* * *

They were beginning to hate him; he could tell.

He never looked away from Rusty and Carson, but he'd been aware of the twins' spiking confusion and rage; he was aware of Linus standing beside him, tense and miserable and desperate for Danny to do something; and he was aware of Livingston staring straight ahead of him in a cloud of growing fury.

And Danny watched Rusty through Carson's hateful voice _(". . . you beneath me, crying and begging me. Do you remember Robert?"_) and he could read the truth, and he could read the shame and the humiliation and the self-disgust and the horror, and he couldn't stop picturing the scene, and he couldn't stop thinking of the fingermarks on Rusty's arm, and he remembered the emotion in Rusty's voice when he said he hated Carson, and the thing was there'd _always_ never been anything worse. Four years and every last shard of agony was still mirrored. And Rusty was still refusing his help.

* * *

He smiled at the barmaid when she came over, and once, a very long time ago, he would have been amused and intrigued by the way her eyes lit up. Now it made him feel dirty inside.

"Hi again," she breathed. "What can I get for you?"

"Same again please, Saffron," Rusty said and he could feel Carson's eyes watching him as she blushed when he said her name. But he wanted Carson to think that he was doing his best to pretend that he was fine. And he wanted Danny to think that he thought he was fine. And it was getting a little difficult to see just where _he_ was in all of this, but he had to admit that 'fine' probably didn't enter into it. He turned to Carson and smiled, for Saffron's benefit. "And for you, Harry?"

Carson smiled, first at Rusty and then at Saffron. Then he reached out and wound a loving arm around Rusty's shoulders and stroked playfully at Rusty's cheek. "Oh, he's such a tease. You know perfectly well what I want, don't you Robert?"

Saffron looked disappointed. Rusty was trying not to shudder or scream, or lash out, or cry, or beg. Because none of that would go well. But he felt sick and dizzy, and honestly shouldn't he be used to this by now?

Carson's eyes were delighted as he trailed a finger very, very slowly down Rusty's chest. "Don't you, Robert?" he repeated pointedly.

He managed to shrug apologetically at Saffron. "Shirley Temple," he managed and she blinked and Carson laughed.

As soon as she'd moved away, Rusty glared at Carson and pulled the hand off his chest violently. "Don't touch me."

Carson shook his head sadly, and effortlessly reached over with his other hand and gripped Rusty's hand, taking the opportunity to dig his fingernails into the almost-healed cuts on his palm. "Oh, Robert. That lacked conviction. You haven't had much experience saying 'no', have you?"

Rusty glared harder and tried to wrench his hand away, but Carson just held on tighter and he tried to fight back the rising panic.

"Now, now," Carson's eyes were dancing. "That isn't the way this works, Robert. Here's what's going to happen. Join in when you know the words. _You're_ going to sit still and let me do whatever I want, and if you make any sort of fuss, I'm going to break your fingers."

* * *

"Stay where you are," Danny ordered hoarsely and the twins paused in the act of opening the door.

Livingston, halfway across the room, glared at him. "Danny, enough is enough."

It had been enough the moment that Carson had sat down. It had been enough the moment that Rusty suggested the Verbal. (_It_ _had been enough four years ago_.)

Linus stepped forwards, quiet and conciliatory and very, very afraid. "Don't you think it's time we stepped in, Danny? This isn't right."

He shrugged and tried to sound reassuring. "Carson can't do much in public like that. And the rest is all an act," he lied and he stared at the monitor and deep inside he was screaming.

* * *

He did know the words. And his natural reaction was to break Carson's nose and run as far as he could. (_As far as Danny_.) But there was no lust in the man's eyes, just glee and anticipation, and whatever happened it would be about humiliation and control, not about sex. (_Wasn't it always?_) And he couldn't afford the fuss, and he couldn't afford broken fingers. And he could take it. He could always, always take it. He nodded slowly, and Carson carefully took one of his hands away, and with the other hand, equally carefully, twisted Rusty's fingers until he could feel muscle and ligament straining. He kept his face blank when Carson resumed stroking his chest, and when Saffron brought the drinks over he managed to smile pleasantly at her, and produce his wallet and the right money and a generous tip. She didn't notice anything wrong. He was better than he thought. Except from the part where he was dying.

Carson brushed a hand further down and stroked Rusty's thigh and clearly delighted at the wince Rusty couldn't quite suppress. "You're thinking of killing me right now, aren't you?" he asked, conversationally.

Rusty nodded, jerkily. "With that cocktail umbrella."

Carson glanced down at his drink thoughtfully. "Do you know, I actually think you could."

"I've always been creative," Rusty agreed and almost screamed when Carson stopped petting his knee and carefully started moving his hand back up his inner thigh.

"Tell me, Robert," Carson's voice was casual. His fingers weren't. "Why a Shirley Temple, exactly?"

"I'm sure the Bureau wouldn't like you drinking on duty," Rusty answered and Carson laughed incredulously.

"What makes you think this isn't about pleasure?" His hand moved another inch higher up Rusty's leg, and with a dull sense of inevitability, Rusty realised that any more and he would lose control. Would start fighting. And everything would be for nothing.

"Why, Harry." He smiled and hated himself. "Didn't think you swung that way."

There was a long pause and then Carson laughed and took his hand away. "I _really_ like you, Robert. I think I could happily play with you for a very, very long time."

Rusty could feel himself starting to shake.

* * *

Danny was going to kill him. He'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

He watched the calculation play out, watched Rusty nodding. Agreeing to be pawed at by a man he hated, and he wanted to explain, wanted to be absolutely clear, that nothing was worth this. And he heard Rusty talking, and there was still a lightness there, on the surface, and that seemed to go some tiny, tiny way towards reassuring the others – just an act, after all – but below that, far, far below that, for the first time, Danny could see how someone could douse the sun.

The passivity was killing him.

* * *

"You know," Carson said casually. "I think I'd like to break your fingers anyway."

Rusty shrugged. "Colour me surprised."

"There's no need for sarcasm," Carson scolded absently. "But it would be interesting, wouldn't it? I remember how well you handled what I did to your hand. And it makes me wonder whether you could actually sit and smile and talk to me and make all these lovely people believe that there was absolutely nothing wrong, while I slowly broke your fingers."

Rusty said nothing.

Carson smiled. "You'd have to though, wouldn't you? Because your little line about a scene not being in my best interests . . . that works both ways, doesn't it? And if we got picked up by security, why, I'd be forced to abandon my plan and arrest all your friends. And that would be All. Your. Fault. Wouldn't it, Robert?"

He still said nothing. Carson smiled and his eyes were bright, and he twisted on Rusty's fingers, pulled and bent back and squeezed, and any more pressure and something would snap. "Wouldn't it?" Carson repeated.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Imagine." Carson shone with pleasure. "Danny in prison, because of you. Wouldn't that be wonderfully ironic?"

"Not really," he said, and his voice was casual, but Carson looked at him sharply and his eyes widened in delight and he let go of Rusty's hand abruptly.

"Oh. That's still what this is all about, isn't it? How very, very marvellous."

* * *

Danny wasn't crying. Not anyplace where anyone could see.

* * *

"Don't know what you mean," Rusty said instantly. Not a line that he wanted Carson anywhere near. Not with Danny listening. Not ever.

"It's all about Danny, isn't it? You're still sniffing after him. Still desperate for his attention. Even after everything," He laughed, amused. "You're so pathetic, Robert. You do know that, don't you?"

"It isn't – " he began, but Carson kept talking inexorably.

" – Remind me. Whose fault is it that you went to prison? Whose fault is it that I can hurt you just by touching you? Whose fault is it – "

"Mine," Rusty interrupted, firmly, desperately, and this time it wasn't the answer Carson was looking for.

"Oh, I don't think so. You're nothing more than a beaten dog, desperately trying to lick the . . . _hand_ . . . that hurts you."

"Shut up," Rusty whispered hoarsely.

"These are the facts, Robert. In case you've forgotten. I had enough evidence to send Daniel Ocean to prison. But dear Danny didn't want to go." He smiled, cruelly. "You can't really blame him, can you? After all, _terrible_ things can happen to a man behind bars. And so, our dear Danny gets an idea. After all, he has a friend who loves him deeply. Who'd do _anything_ for him. And so he sends you off to make a deal with the devil. That's me, by the way,"

"Figured," Rusty muttered, and he tried his best to stop listening.

"Quite. Anyway, you agree to go to prison in Danny's place, and you even pay me for the privilege." He laughed. "You can't even begin to imagine how that made me feel. When I found out that most of the money was yours. I swear, Robert, I've never met anyone quite like you."

"Thanks."

"Oh, it wasn't a compliment," Carson assured him. "I like you, but I think you're pathetic. A truly worthless specimen." Rusty flinched and knew Carson had seen it. "Danny sends you to prison, and you spend four years desperately waiting for him to call or visit – how long did you have his name down on the visitors list again?"

"Four years," Rusty said, his eyes downcast and he concentrated on keeping all the anger and hatred and disgust focussed inwards. With as much control as he could drag together, he glanced up at Carson's face. The man was nowhere near satisfied. Wouldn't be, until he'd managed to do something that he was sure would make them interfere. If they could see. And the problem was, if it went too far, Danny would. He reached into his jacket pocket and, with fingers that only trembled very slightly, lit a cigarette.

Carson watched him gleefully. "Yes. I remember. Four years. And he never spared you a second thought." Not true, Rusty reminded himself. Danny was still thinking about him. Just because he never visited and never talked about him and never used his name, didn't mean Danny wasn't thinking about him. "Until he needs help, of course, then he calls and you come crawling back for more."

"I know all this," Rusty pointed out sharply.

"I think that you've missed the point of it all though, Robert. But that's okay. I forgive you. I like you, remember, and I want to help you."

"I don't want your help," Rusty snapped.

Carson smiled wider. "Temper, temper, Robert." he leaned forwards and for a few moments, Rusty could feel his breath on the side of his face. Then he reached over and took the cigarette out of Rusty's unresisting hand and pulled his arm under the bar. Obscured from casual glances. Right in the view of the security camera. Rusty briefly hoped that Benedict's people weren't looking too hard, and then for a brief few seconds, until he got it all locked down, all he could think about was the searing, blistering, burning in his wrist where Carson held the tip of the cigarette against his skin. He didn't even have to bite his lip to avoid crying out. Odd how instincts could be moulded. He kept his face blank, and looked at Carson, and he didn't protest, and he didn't ask why.

When Carson was sure he had his full attention he smiled tenderly. "Listen to me carefully. Danny doesn't love you. Danny never loved you. He doesn't even care about you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Rusty replied dully, and his wrist felt like it was on fire, and it was taking more of an effort now to avoid jerking his arm away.

"Then I'd like you to repeat it." Carson's eyes never left his face. "Please. It will help you."

"Danny doesn't care about me," Rusty whispered. He could feel the sweat running down his back and he was trembling hard enough that he was afraid that someone might notice.

Carson pressed just that bit harder. "Louder please, Robert."

"Danny doesn't care about me," Rusty repeated out loud, and his voice didn't waver and there was nothing in the world except him and Carson and the pain.

"And . . . ?" Carson prompted, and without ever taking the heat away from the skin, he slowly moved the cigarette further down Rusty's arm, and Rusty could just imagine the line of blistering that would follow.

"And he never loved me." Rusty finished, and perhaps it would have been easier if he could have met Carson's eyes.

"That's right, Robert. Well done." And he was smiling, and he looked happy, and with a vicious little twist, he stubbed the cigarette out on Rusty's arm. "Smoking is very bad for you," he remarked disapprovingly.

"This public health warning is brought to you in association with the FBI," Rusty said, and he wished his voice was steady. "We done here?"

Carson smiled. "I have everything I need. For the moment. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be in touch." He stood up. Rusty didn't. Couldn't.

"Look forward to it, Harry," he managed, and he closed his eyes as Carson shook his head contemptuously and left. Carson was seeing a man desperately trying to hold onto his last shreds of dignity and self-respect. Truth was, Rusty had lost them some time ago.

His phone rang. He ignored it. Soon, very, very soon, he'd stand up and go upstairs and face the music, and the contempt and the pity and the disgust. But not quite yet. He held the bottom of his glass to his wrist, and the ice was soothing. Soon.

* * *

There were four people looking at him. And Danny could see the hatred and the disgust and the anger. And he didn't mind at all. Because however they felt about him, it couldn't even begin to compare to the way he felt about himself.

He'd never hated anyone more.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think. And I promise I'll try to get the next chapter finished soon.**


	26. Chapter 25

A little after eternity, chaos broke out.

"That's not what happened," Linus said, desperation making his voice audible even over the twins. "Danny, tell me that's not what happened. Tell me you didn't set Rusty up." Danny would never do that. Surely. He wouldn't betray anyone like that. Wouldn't take advantage of anyone like that. Not Danny.

Danny just looked at him and Linus could see the absolute guilt written across his face. He wasn't even making an effort to hide it, and that just made it hurt all the more. "No," Linus shook his head slowly. "No . . . . how _could_ you?"

"I think we should calm down and think about this before we start blaming Danny," Virgil said, stepping forwards. But his voice was uncertain. "I'm sure . . . there's got to be something we're missing."

Turk frowned. "Yeah, like _why_?" He stared at Danny. It wasn't exactly what Linus would call friendly. "Remember that whole thing with the other Benny? And when we were just sitting here watching Carson – that was Danny's idea." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm with Linus; how could you, man?"

Livingston seemed to finally manage to unfreeze, and he leapt up and headed for the door.

"Woah, woah, where are you going?" Linus asked quickly.

Livingston glared, first at him and then at Danny. "Where do you think? I'm going to my_ friend._"

"You can't," Danny said, very, very quietly. But it carried somehow, and Linus winced. Because, yeah, he was right, but that didn't make it any better, really.

"Can't?" Livingston repeated, in a tone of ice. And since when was Livingston frightening anyway? "Can't? Oh, I think I'm through listening to you, Danny. He . . . you . . . I thought I knew you. And you let that animal . . ." He swallowed. "Well, I'm going down there, and I'm going to let Rusty know that _some _of us still care about him."

"Danny's right," Linus interjected, and held his hands up in appeasement when Livingston swung back round to face him. "About this," he clarified. "You go down there, well, there's no way that they're not still watching. _You_ know that. And if you go down there now – "

" – I don't care." Livingston said, fiercely.

Linus took a deep breath and concentrated on being convincing. "You go down there now, and there's a good chance that all of us wind up in jail. Rusty included. Not to mention that everything he just went through will be for nothing."

Livingston hesitated and Linus knew he'd won. Didn't feel much like a victory though. "Fine," he said, at last, and he pulled out his phone. "I'll call him instead."

And that probably wasn't such a brilliant idea either. But Linus didn't exactly fancy arguing any more, so he just stood back and watched. After a long time, Livingston hung up. "Went to voicemail," he explained, tersely, and he looked over Linus' shoulder towards the monitors. Linus turned to look too, and saw that Rusty was still sitting at the bar, his glass clamped to his wrist. Linus wondered what he was thinking. And he wondered how much of _that_ really had been an act. He thought about all the things he knew or suspected, and wasn't supposed to. That Carson had hurt Rusty before. The things that Lenny had said. The nightmare he'd seen. Danny had to at least suspect some of that. Didn't he? And that made the fact that he'd abandoned Rusty to Carson's tender mercies so much worse. Fuck – he suddenly remembered that Danny had been talking to Rusty on the phone just before Carson showed up. Rusty must have realised that they knew what was happening. He must have been sitting there, waiting for someone to come and bail him out. And they _hadn't. _And he still didn't exactly understand why not.

"If it had been anyone else . . . " he asked slowly. But Danny was staring out the window, and he didn't seem to hear. "Danny." No response. "Danny!"

"Yes, Linus?" Danny turned round at last, and there was no emotion on his face and his voice seemed to come from a million miles away.

"If it had been anyone else doing the Verbal, would you have let Carson do that?"

"No," Danny said simply. "Never."

And Linus didn't understand. "What, you hate Rusty that much?"

"Linus!" Virgil protested immediately, and even Livingston looked shocked.

Danny just stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled "Yes."

All Linus could do was stare and it felt as if everything he thought he knew was crumbling away.

Surprisingly it was Livingston who stepped forwards. Laid a hand on Danny's arm. "Danny," he shook his head. "No."

Danny stepped back. "The simplest explanation, Livingston."

"It's not true," Livingston said firmly. "And if you'd known that he would actually get _hurt _. . . " He took a deep breath. "The thing with the cigarette. You couldn't have seen that coming."

"Except he did it before," Turk pointed out. "Carson said that he was the one who hurt Rusty's hand."

"Danny didn't know that," Virgil said sharply.

And Linus couldn't let that go. "Yes he did," he said quietly.

They all turned to face him. "What?" Livingston demanded.

"My dad told me that Carson has a reputation for hurting people." He paused and clarified. "_After_ Rusty saw him the first time. But I told Danny, and, I guess Danny wanted everything to go ahead anyway."

Virgil looked upset. "Why would Rusty go along with that? Why wouldn't he tell us? He let us think – "

" - that he did it to himself again," Livingston finished, with horror and anger in his voice.

"Livingston!" Danny snapped.

Linus froze. "Again?" he whispered. And he thought, and it made sense, and he couldn't think how he hadn't seen it before, except that he'd never been able to understand how anyone could hurt themselves.

Virgil shook his head, desperately. "No. No, it was an accident, first time. Rusty said so."

"It was an accident the _second_ time. We saw it," Turk pointed out, angrily. "Guess he lied."

"I didn't mean . . . " Livingston shook his head uncomfortably. "I shouldn't have said that. We're getting off the point."

But it was kind of the point. More than kind of. Because if Danny had known that – and Linus couldn't imagine for a second that he hadn't – then that made it all so much worse. And he just didn't know what to think anymore. "Danny . . . " He turned round just in time to see the door shut with a gentle click, and Danny was gone. "Fuck."

* * *

Reuben had spent a lot of the day annoying Saul with reminiscences about old times. Very old times. All the way back to the way that Ray Costello had taken unimpressed to new levels; and about that nice magician's assistant with doves in unusual places who'd only been slightly more impressed than Ray. Times long before Danny Ocean and Rusty Ryan had wandered into Saul's life – and later, his - and with a grin, a well-played Hidden Parcel, a dangerously played Baker's Choice and the biggest streak of chutzpah Vegas had ever seen, had made their absence unthinkable. Just because needling Saul was one of his favourite pastimes, didn't mean that it wasn't sometimes about something other than what it was about.

They'd had a nice lunch, with Saul looking like anything other than Lyman Zerga, and they'd kept the conversation so free from current events that it had been almost like Sinatra would be playing at the Sands. And they'd wandered back into the hotel, relaxed and arguing, and so it had almost been a surprise when they'd stepped out of the lift and seen Rusty - leaning against the wall, holding a cigarette that had burned away to nothing, and with a blankness in his eyes – and realised that actually, nothing had changed. At least not for the better.

"Rusty?" Saul's voice was gentle, and Reuben was impressed. He was way past the point of feeling like anything other than screaming and demanding answers from brick walls.

It took Rusty just a little too long to blink and then look up and see them. He smiled, and the emptiness melted away. "Hi, Saul. Hey, Reuben."

"Are you all right?" Saul asked.

"Of course." Rusty sounded confused by the question.

"Right," Reuben nodded. "So there's a reason you're standing there setting fire to your fingers?"

Rusty looked down at the dead cigarette end in his hand, and with a grimace, flicked it towards the nearby bin. And that was when his shirtsleeve slid down, just a little, and Reuben caught sight of the bright line of blistering down his wrist.

With a muttered oath, he reached out a hand and stepped forwards quickly – too quickly. Far too quickly. Because Rusty jumped, and took a step backwards, took a step away from him, and Reuben saw the barely-controlled panic in his eyes.

"Rusty!" Saul's voice was sharp, and with the taste of horror in his mouth, Reuben stepped back and let Saul do the talking. "Rusty, listen to me. You know where you are?"

There was a long, long couple of seconds. "Yeah. Sorry, Reuben," And there was a smile and an apology that he'd never dream of asking for and it hurt. "Just a little on edge."

"What happened to your arm, Rusty?" Saul asked quietly.

Rusty's mouth twisted. "I didn't do it," he assured them. "Apparently Carson thinks I should quit smoking."

It took Reuben a couple of seconds to get it. Then he nodded calmly. "He still downstairs?" They'd grab Frank, Basher and Livingston. Find a more straightforward way of solving their problem. There'd always been reasons why Vegas was in the middle of the desert.

"Reuben." And Rusty sounded almost amused, but Reuben wasn't kidding around.

"You all right?" Saul asked again, as Reuben forced himself to calm down.

"Yeah," Rusty shrugged. "He caught me off guard. Wanted to see if he could block our surveillance. Said some stuff I'm going to need to explain. No big thing." He started to walk down the hall, towards Livingston's room.

Reuben wondered exactly who he was trying to fool here. "Has Danny heard yet?" he asked. Because after everything, this was surely going to destroy Danny.

And Rusty paused and looked back and there was something in his eyes that made Reuben want to take a step back. "Danny was watching."

Oh. That couldn't be good.

* * *

Saul had been doing a lot of thinking lately. And he was almost certain that he knew what he was doing. Enough to think about what he was going to do next. Enough to think about taking Rusty someplace quiet after the job. Someplace without people that Rusty would feel he had to put on an act for. Someplace he could – please, god – heal.

But when he saw Rusty shrink away from Reuben's concern . . . it broke his heart all over again. This was never supposed to be the way that life worked. And he didn't want to push too hard _now,_ but he needed to know what Carson had said, and he needed to know what Danny was thinking, because there still had to be a way back from all this. Somehow.

He followed Rusty into the room, fully prepared to offer any support that was needed. And he watched, and inwardly winced, as Livingston pushed forwards and looked, for a second, as though he wanted to hug Rusty. "Are you all right? We were worried. We saw the whole thing, and, god, your arm, let me see."

"Livingston," Saul broke in. "Go get the first aid kit, will you?" He got Rusty to sit down on the arm of the sofa, and started to examine the cigarette burns on Rusty's arm, and tried to keep at least the semblance of a lid on his anger. Carson deserved so much worse. And when Rusty looked at him, and there was shame and apology, Saul started to consider just what he could do to make sure he got it. The wrist was bad enough. The bastard was vicious, and Saul saw the way that Livingston stared when he brought the burn kit over.

"Where's Danny?" Rusty asked, casually, after a moment, as if he had no idea that everyone in the room was staring at him like they were waiting for him to break down. "He said there was some problem with Benedict?"

"How can you stand to work with him?" Linus burst out.

Rusty raised an eyebrow. "Benedict?" The amusement was good, Saul had to admit.

"Danny! He betrayed you," Linus said, insistently, and Saul frowned and wondered what the hell the kid was talking about.

"Other way round," Rusty sighed. Saul glared at him. Because to his mind there'd been no betrayal at all. Only inevitabilities and consequences.

"We heard what Carson said, Rus'" Virgil explained, apologetically.

"We let Carson think what Carson wants to think. That's the point of the Verbal, remember?" Rusty said, with exaggerated patience.

Linus frowned unhappily. "Danny admitted it."

It wasn't often that Saul had seen Rusty look that shocked. Or that frightened. Even if it was only for the slightest of seconds. "He _what_?"

"Well," Linus temporised. "Not in so many words."

"What the hell did Carson say?" Reuben demanded.

"He said that he had enough evidence to send Danny to prison, but that Danny used the way that Rusty felt . . . and, uh, got Rusty to go in his place," Linus explained, nervously.

Saul almost laughed. Reuben actually did. "_What_?"

"Didn't happen that way," Rusty said quietly. And Saul looked up sharply, because there was the barest thread of anger in his voice. "You honestly think it could happen that way?" He looked at Livingston, and the twins. "You know Danny. And you know me. And you think Danny would do that?"

They looked uncomfortable. Virgil shrugged. "Well . . . "

"He's been being a little - _off_ - with you," Turk said.

Rusty ignored them and stared down at his wrist, which Saul was gently wrapping. And if he was being honest, he was being a lot slower about it than he needed to be. Gave him an unimpeachable excuse to sit close, and pay attention and touch, and comfort, and no-one noticed. "Carson had enough evidence to put Danny away," Rusty said at last. "He didn't have anything on me. And I wasn't working the job with Danny. But I found out about Carson. And I offered him a deal. Got him to leave Danny alone, and in exchange he got cash and he got an open and shut case against me." He looked up, fiercely. "Danny didn't know. And if he had he'd never have let me consider it."

Linus looked bewildered. "But _why_ . . . " he trailed off, when the twins, standing one at each side, elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.

Saul glanced over at Reuben, and saw the same emotions that he'd felt, way back when he'd heard the truth. Anger and frustration and resignation and grief. Almost everyone Saul knew talked a good line on loyalty without limits. Most of the people that Saul _liked_ managed to live it. Rusty and Danny were the only ones he knew who had managed to turn it into a serious character defect.

"But he said he hated you," Linus went on, blank incomprehension in his voice, and Saul winced as he watched Rusty tense infinitesimally, and he didn't have hope in hell of seeing what was going on under the surface, and if Danny had really said that, he didn't even know which of them he was more afraid for. "And he just stood there and watched Carson burn you and he didn't even let us interfere when he said he was going to break your fingers if you didn't let him, you know, _grope_ you." There was a moment when Saul thought that he might actually explode from the sheer rage that flooded him. Carson knew. That was suddenly beyond a doubt. Somehow, Carson knew about the unthinkable, and he'd used it, and Saul could only think of one person he was more anxious to see dead. And then it passed, because there were more important things, and a little piece of him died inside, at the look in Rusty's eyes. The shame. The humiliation. The self-disgust. And Rusty was looking at the floor, and Saul knew – just knew – that somehow, somewhere in his head, Rusty thought that it was all his fault. He brushed his thumb over Rusty's hand, tried to project all the love and affection and compassion that he felt. Tried to be supportive. And he wasn't sure if Rusty got any of it. Later, Saul promised himself, he would talk to Reuben, and maybe between them they'd come up with some way of reducing Carson to meat paste.

In the meantime he put on his best imitation of Bobby's sternest voice. "Linus. That's enough." It was good enough to get Linus to gulp and shut up, anyway.

"Danny did exactly what I told him to," Rusty said, distantly.

"You set this up?" Livingston exclaimed.

"No," Rusty explained. "Knew he was watching, so I told him to stay out of it. I told him I could handle it. Because I could. I did."

Linus frowned. "You mean you've got a preset code, or something?"

Or something. Saul would have guessed that whatever it was that the boys actually had was broken. And it was a bitter comfort to find out that it wasn't.

"Yeah, let's go with that," Rusty agreed. Linus still looked confused.

"So . . . "

"Danny didn't do anything wrong, Linus," Rusty said firmly. "My choice, both times."

"Was Carson really responsible for your hand?" Virgil asked suddenly, his eyes full of horror, and Saul stopped breathing. Because that hadn't crossed his mind. And he couldn't imagine that Rusty had lied to him like that.

It was Saul that Rusty was looking at, when he answered, and there was infinite apology in his eyes. "Yes," he said, very, very quietly, and Saul could tell that he would have denied it if he thought he could.

"Did Danny know?" Turk demanded.

"He knew afterwards. A long time afterwards." He didn't look away from Saul. Which was something.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Saul whispered.

"Us," Reuben added quietly.

Rusty shrugged and stood up. "Nothing you could have done. Would have just made things complicated." Saul tried not to let the pain show on his face. It wasn't quite _'I'm fine. There's nothing wrong. It doesn't matter. I don't matter'_. But it was close. Too close. And that feeling of wrongness was only increasing. Rusty paused and half turned away. "I'm sorry. I need to go and talk to Danny."

Yes. Unfortunately Saul couldn't exactly argue with that. Even though he was quite anxious to have a word with both of them. A lot of words. He had to know what he was going to say first. "Come talk to me afterwards," he said, in a voice low enough that the others wouldn't hear, and Rusty nodded quickly. Good.

He waited until the door had closed, before he leaned forwards and looked fixedly at Livingston. "Tell me everything that Carson said," he ordered.

He had to know just what he was up against.

* * *

**So, what did you think?**


	27. Chapter 26

**I did have something intelligent to say. But I've forgotten what it was. Sorry. **

* * *

Danny leaned against the window and stared blindly at the familiar lights spread out below him. Everything was wrong and all he could see was Rusty sitting passively in hell while Carson touched and tormented, and all he could hear was his own voice agreeing that he hated Rusty. And it wasn't true, and he felt like screaming. He'd had to get out. Had to get away. Even for a little while.

He heard the door open behind him and he bit his lip hard and didn't look round, even when he heard him step through, even when he heard him sigh as the door closed again.

There was a very long silence.

"Any particular reason why you've decided to set yourself up as public enemy number one?" Rusty asked eventually.

The glass was cool on his forehead. He closed his eyes. "I was watching."

"I know that," Rusty said quietly.

"I didn't do anything," Danny explained.

Rusty sighed again. "You did exactly what I told you."

Danny winced. Not the point. "I watched him hurt you."

"It was my choice." Rusty's voice was calm and reasonable and understanding.

And that just made him angry. He spun round and glared at Rusty, leaning on the wall by the door, a study in carelessness. "It's always your choice, isn't it?"

Rusty looked at him, and the stubbornness was obvious, and he said nothing.

"I watched him hurt you. Burn you." He felt his face twist up with the horror of it. "I watched him put his hands all over you. Make you say those things. I watched. And I did _nothing_. Just stood there. Why the hell don't you hate me?"

Rusty smiled. "Maybe I'm just a pathetic lapdog with no mind of my own."

"Not funny," Danny said tightly. Because there hadn't been quite enough amusement in Rusty's voice. There wasn't quite enough of the lie.

"No." Rusty closed his eyes and rubbed absently at his leg.

"Cramp?" Danny asked with a frown. Rusty shrugged and didn't answer and Danny wondered if he could still feel Carson's hands. He saw, again, and he felt sick, deep inside. "I deserve – "

Rusty's eyes snapped open. " – What? You deserve to get to feel sorry for yourself and punish yourself by messing up the job so everyone goes to jail?"

They both winced. Little too close.

"I meant – " Rusty began, apology in his voice.

" – I know," Danny cut in. Now. Not four years ago.

Rusty sighed. "We can't do this if they don't trust you." And there was resignation and pain.

"What did you do?" Danny asked and the anger faded. Because Rusty would never have been able to leave things the way he had.

"Told the truth," Rusty said simply.

Danny's breath caught. "I'm sorry." He was. He knew that Rusty didn't want that. And neither did he. Too personal. Too painful.

"Better that than . . ." Rusty sighed, and the indifference faded away. He ran his hands through his hair. "They'll all know by the end of the night."

They would. There was no way that this was staying a secret anymore. "You tell them everything?"

"Honestly? I'm not even sure anymore." He paused. "Told them it wasn't your fault. Not now, not then."

"Rus' . . . " He shook his head. Because that wasn't the truth.

"It's always my choice," Rusty said, with a quick, miserable smile.

There was silence for a while, but Danny couldn't stop thinking. "I watched him hurt you."

Rusty nodded. "I know." It didn't seem to bother him any.

It bothered Danny. It was wrong on some level beyond comprehension. "They should hate me. You should hate me."

"There wasn't any other choice," Rusty said simply.

And Danny couldn't let that go. "I thought there was always another choice?"

"All right, there wasn't any better choice," Rusty said with a shrug.

Danny wished that wasn't true. But if Carson realised they'd been setting him up all this time . . . "He would have arrested us." For starters.

"And he would . . ." Rusty looked up at him and his eyes were haunted. "He knows people. He knows things. He told me what he'd do."

"I won't let him," Danny said immediately, and it didn't matter what Carson wanted to do, it was never, never going to happen.

"Danny . . . "

"I won't," he promised. If this all went bad, his first – his only – priority was going to be getting Rusty away and safe. Even if it meant he went to prison instead. But Rusty was looking at him, disbelief in his eyes, and Danny wanted to change the subject. "Are you all right?"

Rusty smiled "I'm – "

" – fine," Danny completed. "Of course you are."

The smile vanished. Rusty rubbed at the dressing on his wrist. "It's not that bad."

"Heard that a lot too," Danny pointed out.

"What do you want me to say?" Rusty asked. "It hurts. Saul fixed it up. It'll heal."

Danny took a deep breath. "And the rest?"

Rusty stared at him, uncomprehending. "There was no 'rest'. Just the cigarette."

And Danny wanted to focus on the real problems. The damage that Carson had done that wouldn't heal so well. But he knew he couldn't keep his feelings from showing on his face.

"What?" Rusty asked, sharply.

Fuck. Danny took a deep breath. "You lit the cigarette on purpose," he said, evenly, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Because he'd known immediately, and he couldn't stand it.

Rusty looked down at the ground and Danny knew that he'd been less than successful. "I had to," Rusty whispered at last.

"You practically gave it to him." Danny heard his voice rise, and he was powerless to stop it. "You wanted him to hurt you."

"He was going to anyway," Rusty protested. "He wasn't going to stop until he'd done something that you'd have to interfere at."

"And I didn't." Carson would approve. Danny really was his kind of person.

"He would have broken my fingers," Rusty explained. "Or else he would have kept talking until I . . ." He shuddered and Danny thought about Carson's little line about reducing Rusty to a snivelling wreck and he felt like crying. "I gave him a nice, non-permanent option."

Danny frowned. "He was bluffing." Carson wasn't an idiot. He must have known he couldn't really break Rusty's fingers without being noticed.

"He wasn't," Rusty said quietly.

"He had to be. He had to know that there was no way that you could . . . " He trailed off. Because Rusty was shaking his head and the distant look was back in his eyes. "You couldn't."

Rusty smiled. Danny wished he wouldn't. "I could."

"You couldn't before," he said, after a very, very long time.

"I can now," Rusty said simply and his face was impassive.

"Rusty, I . . ." He stopped. Because what could he say? I'm sorry? It wasn't even close to enough.

"Don't." Rusty shook his head quickly. "It doesn't matter anyway." He forced a smile. "What were you going to say about Benedict?"

And there was the distance again. The demand that they pretend to be nothing to each other. And Danny just couldn't handle it. He sighed, and prepared to tell the truth. All of the truth.

*

He heard Danny sigh. "I can't do this anymore, Rus'. I'm sorry."

That was . . . understandable. Didn't mean it didn't hurt to hear. "It's just for tomorrow. After that we're finished," he promised. "You won't see me again."

There was a pause, long and cold. Danny was staring at him. He didn't look. "You're not listening to me," Danny said, and Rusty had to strain to hear him. He didn't sound like Danny anymore. He sounded quiet and defeated and Rusty hated it.

"Danny . . . " he began, and he stopped because there was nothing on his tongue except empty comfort and reassurance.

Danny ignored him anyway. "I don't want to lose you again, Rus'. I can't. And I can't watch you alone and hurting anymore."

"After the job's done, you won't have to," Rusty pointed out. "I'll be gone, and you can – "

He stopped, when Danny made a noise that wasn't quite a growl and wasn't quite a sob but was filled with misery and frustration. "Stop. Just . . _stop._ Stop listening to Carson and start listening to me. Let me in. Let me help you."

"I can't, Danny." He didn't need help. He needed rest. He needed an ending.

"_Why_?"

Rusty struggled to explain in a way that Danny would understand. "It's not real. It's just because you're feeling guilty, because Carson got in your head, because of the others and because I got hurt working for you – "

" – for? – " Danny's whisper was far too painful to listen to.

" – and of course while I'm here, you're going to be thinking about me, but it's just guilt and nostalgia or whatever. It's not real."

Danny stared at him for a long moment. Then he started laughing. There was no humour in it. "_It's not real_? This isn't real? I don't have _anything_ more real."

"No." Rusty shook his head. "No, you just feel – "

" – sorry for you?" Danny finished quietly

"Yes," he whispered.

Danny leaned back and closed his eyes. "You want something selfish? I used to tell people I didn't miss you, you know that? When they asked. And they did. Used to get angry if they even mentioned your name. I think they thought I didn't want to be reminded . . . " He trailed off, and Rusty felt a stabbing in his soul. Danny opened his eyes and looked straight at him, raw and vulnerable. "And that was never true. Because I could never forget. Not even for a moment. Miss you? To miss you, I think I'd have to be capable of living without you."

"You are. You can." He had to be.

"You want to know how I spent the first three years you were in prison?"

Rusty shook his head. Danny kept talking, quickly and frantically.

"Got a job selling insurance. Big glass building. Large office with grey carpets. Wall to wall cubicles, filled with grey people. And I was one of them. Made employee of the month half the time. They had my picture up on the wall with a little plaque underneath. There were company picnics. I was on the bowling team. They introduced me to visiting VIPs. Like they owned me. Like they controlled me. They had my picture up on the wall, Rus'. And I didn't recognise it. I wasn't there." He paused and hung his head, breathing heavily and his voice was muffled. "I stopped seeing the world. Stopped seeing the opportunities. Stopped seeing the wonder. Stopped seeing the sunlight. Even stopped seeing the fucking escape routes. You weren't there. And that didn't stop me from talking to you." He looked up awkwardly. "I know it isn't . . . it doesn't begin to compare. But can you honestly tell me that's life? It's not – "

" – who you are," Rusty whispered.

"Who _we_ are," Danny corrected.

"But you're doing better now." He made a gesture that took in Vegas and the joy of stealing the unstealable.

Danny hesitated. "I think I do a good impression of myself."

And Rusty wanted to argue, but he couldn't.

"Almost as good as your impression of you." And Danny's eyes were steel.

"I've had more practice," Rusty answered quietly.

"Yeah." He sighed. "It's not so bad. This last year. Sometimes I even found myself having fun."

"Good," Rusty said, and meant it. "And Linus is – "

" - Oh, Linus _is_," Danny agreed. "But he isn't you. You want a selfish reason? I need you."

"You'll survive."

"But I want to _live_."

And Rusty had to bite back the obvious answer. _I don't. _

Seeing his hesitation, and mistaking it, Danny went on. "I need you in my life. But that's my problem, and if you can't . . . then I'm going to have to find some way to live with that. But more than that, I need to know you're whole, and happy. Please. Let me help you. Not because I'm feeling guilty, or because I feel sorry for you. Just because it's you and it's me, and maybe it's fucked-up, but it's real and I can't pretend any more."

He hung, for a long, long moment, over the precipice between safety and _needing_. But, no. He took a mental step back. He was done. He was through. And Danny was wrong. Because he wasn't what he'd been back then. Too much time. Too much misery. He'd lost, already. He _was _lost. He was pathetic, he was nothing, and he should never have come running when Danny called. He should never have gone to see Frank in the first place. Should've done the graceful thing and slipped away.

Slowly he shook his head, and he turned away and headed for the door. "Pretend for one more day. Then it's over."

*

Over. Danny almost felt like laughing. It would never be over. And he'd been so stupid to think that it ever could be. They defined each other. And he was going to lose. They both were.

Rusty's hand was on the door handle, and Danny's mouth was dry. One card left to play. No bluffs left. "I love you."

Three words that had never passed between them before. Didn't mean that he hadn't always known they were there. He watched Rusty freeze, still facing the door, and hesitantly he walked forwards and stopped when they were inches away and miles apart.

"No." Rusty shook his head and there was terror and confusion in his voice. "No, no."

"I _love_ you," Danny repeated firmly, because if nothing else, he needed to make Rusty understand that.

"You can't. You mustn't." And there was panic, and Rusty was shaking, and Danny was frightened and he reached out, instinct telling him to hold and comfort. "Don't _touch_ me," Rusty snapped, and Danny pulled his hands back like they'd been burned.

"Rus'," he whispered.

"I need . . ." Rusty half turned, but wouldn't look at him. "I need to go. Saul wanted to talk to me."

"Please. Please stay." Danny wasn't above begging.

Rusty shook his head, and he was still trembling and Danny didn't know what to do. "No. Danny, no. We're through, you and me. We're done."

"I'll do anything," he promised, wild and desperately sincere. "Please."

Rusty opened the door and hesitated. "I'm sorry," he whispered, in a voice full of regret.

"I love you," Danny said, hopelessly.

The door closed and Danny was alone again, and he slid to the floor and cried.

* * *

**Um, what did you think?**


	28. Chapter 27

**WARNING! Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once. This chapter contains mature themes, inexplicitly adult content, and a great deal of unpleasantness. It's nothing that hasn't been talked around before, but it's all there, and so I'm saying beware. And if I were you, I wouldn't read. I've read it and it did me no good. InSilva's read it and she used the phrase 'Descent into unmitigated horror'. So, just so we're clear, you have been warned.**

**Second warning: this chapter is very long. Get a drink first. **

**And, as previously mentioned, InSilva has read it. And she's put up with a lot of rambling and raving about it. And she's offered endless reassurance and intelligent advice, she's corrected typos and not even mocked the fact that I fail to remember my OCs names _too_ much, and I could never, ever ask for a better second opinion. And really, if you want to thank someone for this story, it shouldn't be me, because it would, quite simply, never have got this far without her. (Uh, realise that is seriously two-edged. But never mind.) And I lack the words to say 'thank you' properly, but that doesn't mean I don't mean it. **

* * *

_He stumbled into his room and it took three attempts to get the door to close behind him. Dimly he was aware of dropping to his knees, vaguely he knew he was biting almost all the way through his lip, trying to stifle the sobs._

_Danny couldn't love him. Danny mustn't love him. Not after everything. But Danny had been looking at _him_, not at the ghost of old time's sake; and he'd said it, and he'd meant it, and Rusty didn't know _why. _Couldn't begin to understand._

_He'd ruined everything, he'd destroyed them, he'd destroyed Danny, he'd destroyed himself, and there was nothing now. He had nothing left to give Danny. Nothing left to offer. Everything he'd ever been, he'd given away, piece by piece by piece. _

_It had taken four years, but he'd lost, and there was no way back._

_

* * *

_

He'd been sure the first night would be the worst. It was hell, after all.

He'd lain on his bunk in the dim light, listening to the guards talking, listening to Ritchie Johnson snoring above him, listening to his own ragged breathing. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off the locked door. The door he couldn't open.

He couldn't walk out of here. This place was where he belonged for the foreseeable future, surrounded by greyness and locked doors and iron bars. It was going to be years, no reprieve, no escape, no cavalry. _(No Danny_) He'd trapped himself here, and he'd known what he was doing, so really he needed to stop staring at the door – the locked door – and settle down and stop feeling like if he didn't get out of here right this minute he'd suffocate.

His fingernails scraped harshly against the concrete wall. It was real. (_He wondered what Danny was doing right now._) He didn't cry. The walls pressed hard against his soul and he lay, alone and desperate and above all, silent, not giving in to the need to scream, until exhaustion finally claimed him and he slept like a corpse till the morning head count.

* * *

He'd been sure that the first night would be the worst. But the next night was just the same. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Prison was all about routine.

He got to know people quickly. Fitting in had always come naturally and within a few weeks he was a not-especially-recognisable part of the crowd. There were men he ate meals with, men he played cards with, men he joked with, men who confided in him; and if they'd stopped to think about it, they'd probably all have been astonished that all they really knew about him was his name.

It was protective camouflage he was after, not friendship. If he was going to spend his years in the background there needed to be knowable foreground. There were plenty of ways of surviving, and he preferred to be invisible.

* * *

It should never have happened. Obviously it should never have happened. But it had just been a question of a bunch of mindless thugs sensing an opportunity, smelling blood in the water, and he'd been in the wrong place at the right time and he'd never learnt to look the other way.

The two guards who'd been supposed to be watching the inmates shower had vanished in a hurry. Something about a quasi-riot in the canteen. Rusty had been willing to bet Dennis Wood had taken exception to the meatloaf surprise again. Not that he'd blame the guy, and he ignored the pang of hunger, like he had to do so often now. A little over a month and he'd almost forgotten what real food tasted like. Almost forgotten what it was like not to be starving.

The shower block had been nearly empty. Just him, Pete, Archer, Small Jimmy and some huge guy he'd seen around but been warned not to talk to. That kind of advice he listened to, although at the moment Rusty could see without looking that the man was as intent as the rest of them on enjoying the fact that the water was actually hot today. Little pleasures counted for a lot.

It really must have just been a seized opportunity. Because the four guys who marched into the shower block, their eyes fixed on Small Jimmy, well, they just didn't have the brains for an elaborate set-up.

"Everyone out," their leader demanded. Kowalski, Rusty thought his name was, though he'd never spoken to him. He knew what the man had a reputation for, and as he looked over to Jimmy - wet and shivering with something other than cold – he thought about the way Jimmy's stutter had got worse over the past few weeks, and the way his hand trembled when he dealt, and the way he jumped every time someone came into a room, and he mentally sighed.

He made to follow Pete and Archer as they scuttled out of the shower block, and when he was level with Kowalski he brought his elbow down with a crunch on the flimsy piping, and not only did it hurt like hell, it sent a jet of hot water straight into Kowalski's face.

"Run," Rusty said, and by the incredulous gasp and the slapping sound of bare feet running through puddles, Jimmy didn't have to be told twice.

It wasn't that far to the door. But Kowalski recovered far faster than Rusty would have thought, and was far less focused on chasing his original prey than Rusty had expected, and he was tackled and knocked to the ground, and his head hit against the tiles and suddenly he was lying on his back with blood in his eyes and Kowalski crouched over his chest looking over to the other side of the room.

"Get the fuck out, Felding," Kowalski said, irritably.

The huge guy spoke surprisingly softly. "The water's hot. I'll take my time. Besides, a show with my shower might be fun."

Rusty twisted his head round and saw where the man's hands were and the way they were moving, and Kowalski laughed incredulously and then he looked down and his eyes trailed appreciatively over Rusty's naked body, and this was going to happen, oh god, this was actually going to happen . . .

"You look better than Jimmy. Can't think how we missed you before."

. . . Like hell it was. Rusty punched upwards and caught Kowalski in the throat, and he didn't even wait to hear him gasp and choke before he brought his knee up into the man's balls, scrambled to his feet and ran like hell.

Dimly, Rusty realised that Jimmy had closed the door behind him, and that didn't bode well for his hope that the guy had gone running for the guards.

Hands grabbed him, and he changed course slightly and his momentum met the wall with his attacker's arm in between. There was a satisfying crack, and Rusty wriggled free and kept running.

"He broke my wrist! The bastard broke my wrist!"

And there was someone else grabbing him from behind, and he spun round and brought the heel of his hand up into the guy's nose, and the results were pleasingly messy, and he was nearly at the door, but the fourth man was waiting, and Kowalski had got up again, and he threw desperate punches, fought harder than he ever had before, but it wasn't enough, and off to the side, Felding was laughing . . .

"You're going to pay for that," Kowalski snarled hoarsely, once they had him on the ground. And he believed it.

In the end, even after the kicking stopped, he was still fighting hard enough that it took three of them to hold him down.

Afterwards, after they left limping and cursing but satisfied, he walked away, ignored Felding staring after him, and he got dressed and acted like everything was normal, and he'd made up some pretty lies for the guards and the doctor they sent him to.

And if he cried a little bit, curled up in the darkness, who was to know? Wasn't like there was anyone there to understand and stay and comfort and never leave and offer chocolate and whisky and words and silence. Nothing lasted forever and that could be good as well as bad.

Just a little bit of self pity. He wasn't weak.

* * *

Jimmy tried to thank him, once. Rusty smiled, a little painfully, and said it was nothing.

It had been the worst. But he'd survived, and there were four men who'd had to make a trip to the infirmary, and the word was they would be leaving him alone from now on. Too much effort. Just that bit too difficult. And the worst was _over_.

The next day, Felding dragged him into an empty cell and when Rusty yelled and kicked and swore and scratched, Felding laughed and smashed his face against the concrete wall a few times, until it got difficult to see, or move, or think.

Words were whispered in his ear. "Fighting's good. I like fighting."

He started struggling again, when Felding picked him up off the floor and bent him over the bed, and he heard Felding laugh again, and nothing he did seemed to make a difference. And when he felt the knife slice open his jumpsuit, he took a deep breath and prepared to scream like he never had before, and that was when Felding shoved his fist into Rusty's mouth.

He tried to bite down, but his jaw was forced too wide, and it hurt, it hurt, and as his jumpsuit was pulled down around his ankles, he threw his elbow back, and he felt it connect with Felding's nose, and he knew he'd done some damage, and the fist was hauled out of his mouth and he tried to yell, to scream, he did, to hell with dignity, he couldn't go through this again, surely, surely, but before he could get the breath there were hands around his throat and pressure and pain until the world turned grey and there were black spots twisting at the edges of his vision.

"I can fight too," Felding whispered, as he finally let go of Rusty's throat. "Want to try?"

He didn't. But he couldn't breathe properly, and the black spots were still there, and he didn't know if he'd ever be able to think about talking again and then Felding smiled and started punching. Again. And again. And again. And it was all at his ribs, and he heard something crack and he felt something break and he tasted blood.

Later, face down on the bed, broad fingers gripping him, burning holes in his hip, after the grunting, he felt Felding sink his teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, ripping and tearing and he gave a harsh cry and Felding punched him, and spat out a mouthful of red. "You're mine, now."

He slid to the floor, and stared up, trembling and bleeding, as Felding rearranged his jumpsuit to his satisfaction. "Not bad, for a first time. But you make too much noise. Gonna teach you to be quiet. Gonna teach you to be silent."

Rusty swallowed the blood in his mouth. "What are you, Lillian Gish?"

He could hardly hear his own voice. And he didn't think anyone would recognise it. (_No-one except . . .but he didn't want to know._) But the reference obviously passed straight over Felding's head. "See you around." The cell door closed behind him.

Rusty managed to pull the remains of his jumpsuit back on, and stagger all the way to the infirmary before he passed out.

* * *

He was staring at the phone card in his hand. Turning it over, and over, and over.

He could call Danny. He could. It wasn't . . . well. It wasn't a lot of things. And even if Danny didn't want to know, probably he'd still be willing to talk. Maybe. Or listen at least. Probably. Except . . . except even if Danny didn't hang up as soon as he heard Rusty's voice (and the enormity of _that_ was still screaming in his head), even then, Rusty didn't know what he wanted to say. Because it was never going to be 'I'm sorry', and 'I miss you' wasn't even close to enough, and all that left was '_please_'. . .

Maybe . . . maybe he didn't have to say anything. He could just dial the number. Hear Danny's voice. (_Danny's voice. Oh, god._) He didn't need to say anything. And if he was very, very good and very, very quiet, and didn't even breathe, Danny might not know it was him.

He sighed and rubbed the card across his lips and thought about Danny's voice and the surprise and confusion and bewilderment that would turn to realisation, and anger, and hurt, and a dialling tone. No. No, he wouldn't be making that call. (_"You do this and we're through, you and me. We're done. I won't be waiting when you get out." "Then I guess we're don_e.") He closed his eyes. No. Just, no.

Of course, he could phone Saul. And he didn't want to think too hard about the wave of hope and desperation and loneliness that rose up inside him at the thought. Saul would still want to talk to him. Even after all this time. _Especially_ after all this time. Saul would've been worried these past months, and Rusty phoning would make him feel better. And it would make Rusty feel better. So, there was nothing stopping him, really. (_Except_.) Except that if he phoned Saul, Saul would want to come out and see him. Would insist. And Rusty didn't think he'd have the strength to refuse. And over a phone line, he probably had a hope of convincing Saul that it wasn't so very bad, that he was surviving, that nothing had changed. The moment Saul looked at him, Rusty knew he'd want to admit to everything. Confess about Tess and Carson, and betraying Danny. Tell him about being frightened and lonely and hurt. And there was no point to that. It would hurt Saul, and it wouldn't help him. He had to stay inside, he had to keep the truth inside, and that meant sticking with his first instincts. Be independent. Be self sufficient. Be alone.

"Hey, Ryan!" He looked up to see Daker grinning at him. "You know you need a phone to make that work, man."

He smiled back and considered. Daker. Who'd been in eight months with another ten months to go and a nine months pregnant wife back home. "Here." He handed the phone card over. "You want?"

Daker looked confused. "Yeah, but why? Man, there's ten dollars here."

Rusty shrugged. "Turns out I don't have anyone to call."

Obviously not about to complain, Daker slipped the card up his sleeve. But he frowned before he walked off. "You should think of someone. Man needs friends outside this place."

No. He was alone. There was no-one waiting for him.

* * *

It was getting colder now. He was shaking harder – impossible to stop, even though it made the pain worse – and it was getting more difficult to keep his eyes open, more difficult to stay awake. Which he had to. Because he had to move in a minute or so. Soon as the pain died down, just a little. He thought he'd probably been lying here for a long time; the blood beneath him seemed to be drying.

There was a noise, somewhere far away he thought, and he tensed and the pain actually, somehow, impossibly, got worse, and he had to force himself not to scream. Mustn't scream. Mustn't whimper or groan or speak or sob. Because Felding might hear, and he might come back and he might start again, and Rusty couldn't go through it all again. (_He was dying anyway_.)

As long as he was lying (_dying_) peacefully on the cold concrete floor, he was safe, and he could just lie still (_as a corpse_) and try and block out the pain. Though he'd have to get up in a minute. He'd have to get out of here. He couldn't stay here forever. (_He could_) But just a few more minutes. Just until some of the pain died down, just a little.

There was another noise and he jumped again and the pain hit him again, deep inside, in impossible places, as bad as it was happening all over again, and he screwed his eyes shut and he held his breath for a long time, and then – miraculously – there were gentle hands stroking his hair and a soft voice saying his name.

Danny.

Danny was here, (_But Danny couldn't be here_) and that meant that Rusty could relax and go to sleep and Danny could take care of everything. (_But Danny couldn't _be_ here_) and even if, maybe, he was dying, well, dying in Danny's arms wasn't so very bad. The pain was somehow more bearable already. (_But Danny couldn't be here. And even if somehow he _could_ be, he _wouldn't_. Because . . . because . . . he didn't . . . they weren't . . ._)

"I'm here, Rus'. I'm here," Danny's voice said soothingly. "But I need your help, okay?"

Danny needed him. That was good to hear. That was important. He opened his eyes and tried his best to blink the blood out of his eyes, and when that didn't work, he gingerly wiped at them with the back of his arm (_and moving hurt, it hurt, it hurt_) and that was less than successful, because his arm was as blood-covered as his face, but that didn't matter because the point was he couldn't see Danny.

"I'm right here," Danny promised him, and he did sound close by. "It's dark, remember?"

That was true. But it wasn't pitch black, and he could dimly make out the shelving over to the right, and he'd had no trouble seeing . . . Felding. He shuddered and Danny squeezed his shoulder with urgent reassurance, (_And that should hurt, shouldn't it? He'd thought his collarbone was broken._) and then Danny bent down and kissed him on the forehead and he relaxed again.

"Don't worry about it, Rus'. I'm here. Now, listen. We need to get you out of here."

That seemed reasonable. Even if Danny was here, the décor in this place wasn't quite to his taste.

"Not a fan of concrete and bloodstains?" Danny asked and Rusty grinned, just a little. He supposed that maybe with a sofa and a couple of scatter cushions –

"Scatter cushions?" Danny sounded amused, and just because he couldn't see it, didn't mean he couldn't picture the look. "You want some mood lighting while you're at it?"

That was kind of what they had. Except it was the wrong mood.

"Yeah," Danny's voice said quietly. "Okay. I need you to call for help, all right? You'll have been missed by now. Evening headcount must have been and gone. The kitchens are right above you. Someone will hear you eventually, and come down. Just yell as loud as you can."

Rusty shook his head frantically, and it hurt, and he pulled himself into a ball, and that hurt, but it didn't matter because he was oblivious to the pain and the wounds he was reopening, and everything except for the certain and terrible knowledge that he didn't dare call for help.

"He's not here, Rusty. You heard the door close, and that was more than an hour ago. He's not coming back." Danny sounded impatient and exasperated, and Rusty just curled tighter in on himself. He couldn't. Couldn't.

And then Danny's hand was back, stroking his hair, resting on the back of his neck. "It's all right. When did we ever do anything the easy way, right?" But there was disappointment in Danny's voice now, and that was something that Rusty barely recognised. Danny had never used to find him a disappointment. But after what he'd let Felding do to him, who'd be surprised? Because he'd . . . he was . . . so fucking _dirty_.

"Don't think about that now," Danny told him sharply. "If you're not going to get help, you need to get yourself out of here. Can you stand?"

He could try. For Danny. To make Danny proud. He reached for the remains of his jumpsuit before remembering that even if he could somehow wriggle into it, it was soiled, bloodstained, and in tatters. Unwearable.

Danny's voice was impatient. "At this stage does it really matter if anyone else sees you naked?"

And that was true, no matter how much it hurt. But it didn't sound like something Danny would say.

At the thought there was instant contrition. "It's okay. I need you to get out of here. I need you, remember?"

Biting into his lip as hard as he could, he hauled himself up onto his good arm, or at least his better arm, and onto his knees and he crawled in the direction of the nearest wall and froze when he put his hand on a piece of sharp metal. The iron piping. Felding's iron piping. The one he'd used on Rusty again and again and again. And images and feelings rose in his mind, and he jerked away as if the metal was red hot.

Danny's voice was in his ear, and he could feel warm breath on the side of his face. "It can't hurt you anymore, Rus'. He's gone. Keep going. Please."

He kept going. It might have taken seconds or years, but he found himself against the concrete wall and inch by agonising inch, he dragged himself up by the fingernails, and he was standing straight and tall, and it was like something was tearing, ripping him apart from inside and he thrust his fingers into his mouth and he bit down hard and he fell and he hit his shoulder off the ground, and there was a fraction of a second, an explosion of agony and then nothing.

After a time, Danny was back, and there were fingers running through his hair and soothing words. "Rus'. Come back now. It's all right. Open your eyes." He did. He still couldn't see Danny. "That's right. That's good."

Didn't feel good. It hurt worse than ever.

"Yeah. I know. That didn't exactly work out too well, did it?"

Not very well, no.

"You're going to need to crawl up the stairs."

Rusty looked over to the staircase. It was miles away. And it was at least a mile high. Not doable. Impossible. Far better to just lie here and rest his eyes.

"I'll leave."

What?

"You stay here and you're alone. You're bleeding, Rusty. From more places than we can count. And that pain inside? That's a fairly impressive collection of internal injuries."

He knew that.

"You stay here and you're _going to die_. Alone. Get moving. Now."

And Danny was gone, and Rusty had to follow, because what else did he have? He couldn't even pull himself up onto his elbow now, he had to wriggle along the ground, push himself with his legs as best he could, and the friction, the concrete scraping at his hips made him feel sick, and every inch hurt more than the last.

It took years, but he found himself lying next to the shelves, and the staircase rose above him, unclimbable and unthinkable.

"You're doing fine, Rus'. You're doing great. Now, listen. There's a sheet of card on the shelf just to your right. I need you to grab it, okay?"

Sure, Danny. Anything you like.

It took him a couple of attempts to make his fingers close around the stiff card, and in the end he put it between his teeth.

"Just the stairs to go now, Rusty. Come on. We've faced worse in our time."

That was true. And if he thought about it, he'd faced worse today, and Danny was here now, so he could do it.

"Of course you can." And Danny's voice was warm and loving, and he caressed Rusty's cheek and rested his hand on Rusty's neck, and everything was good. "Just follow my voice, okay?"

He could do that. And Danny moved away, and called to him from just above and the nightmare began. Every step took a little bit more than the last. Every step took just a little more than he had to give. And he wanted to plead, to beg, to scream, but he couldn't, and all he could do was focus on Danny's voice, just out of reach, encouraging, soothing and merciless. And he knew he was bleeding more than he had been before, and that was never good, but Danny wouldn't let him think about it, and wouldn't let him rest, and wouldn't let him give in to the pain and he wanted to cry and tell Danny how much he hated him and how much he loved him, but the words wouldn't come.

After more time than he understood, he found his head leaning against the door. He stared at it, uncomprehending.

"You need to open it. Listen. There are people on the other side."

He tried. He thought he could hear something. People? And he had to open the door?

"Don't worry about why, just do what I say."

He could do that. He had to do what the voice said. Though he couldn't remember why. He reached up and felt for a door handle, but there was nothing.

"It only opens from the other side, remember? That's why you brought the card."

Card. Right. He took it out of his mouth and waited expectantly.

"Fit it into the door. Where the jamb will be."

His hands seemed to know what they were doing. In fact they seemed to move of their own accord.

"That's right. Now, push. And wiggle it just a little bit . . .that's good."

He'd pleased the voice. He felt warm inside.

"Now just pull the edge of the door."

And his fingers did, and the door swung towards him, and he nearly fell back and the light came spilling out, blinding him.

He waited for a moment, but there was nothing. Danny must have gone ahead. And he could hear people just in front of him. Danny would be there. He crawled with new determination, and fell round the corner and into the kitchens proper.

"Fuck!"

"Jesus Christ!"

"What the fuck is that?"

"Go and get a guard, William."

There was the sound of running footsteps, and there were a lot of voices, but none of them were Danny. And it didn't feel like Danny was anywhere near.

"It's that pretty boy from D Block, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Felding's latest bitch."

"Look at him! Guess he's had quite a day."

They sounded amused and disgusted and Rusty realised that Danny had seen what they saw. Soon as they got into the light, Danny had seen what they saw, and he'd vanished because he'd realised just what had happened. Just what Rusty was now.

And okay, he was pathetic and disgusting, but he wanted Danny back, just for a little while. Please. He'd do anything Danny wanted. He'd be good, he'd be sorry, he'd never argue again, never tease again, he'd be anything Danny wanted, if he'd just come back. "Danny . . . " he begged, and his voice was hoarse and unrecognisable.

"Who's Danny? Your boyfriend?"

There was mocking laughter that he didn't understand.

"Danny. Please," he repeated, and he didn't even care if Felding came back now, as long as Danny did too.

But there was nothing. Danny was gone.

* * *

After that, Felding grabbed him whenever he happened to think of it, and Rusty would always fight and always run, and sometimes he got away. But he never made a sound. He knew what he couldn't survive.

For a while people avoided him like he had a target painted on his shirt. They gradually drifted back when they realised he was never going to ask for help. Never going to expect that when trouble came looking for him, they'd do anything other than look the other way and run for cover.

And there were jokes at mealtimes, and there were games of cards and people to kill time with. But there was no-one to notice that he didn't talk so much anymore. No-one to catch him as he gradually got quieter and quieter, drifted further and further away, became more and more invisible. No-one to notice that all he did was stare, at the doors and the locks and the bars, and dream.

There came a time when he realised that it had been nearly five days since he'd said a word to another human being.

There came a time when he realised that he didn't care.

* * *

He hadn't meant to, that was the worst part of it. It hadn't been an act of courage, or defiance, it had been a stupid fuck-up. It had been a while since he'd even seen Felding. He'd been playing cards and he'd won a couple of miniatures. Scotch. Good Scotch, even. And he'd been relaxed, and he'd been busy thinking ahead to the prospect of actually maybe getting a decent night's sleep, and when Felding had stepped out of nowhere and dragged him into the supply closet he'd cried out before he could stop himself. And Felding had looked delighted, right up to the point where Thomson – one of the guards who was just a little bit more on the ball than anyone ever expected - had flung open the door and sent them both off to their own cells.

There'd been no peaceful night's sleep. He'd known what was coming. He'd known he'd be punished.

He managed to hide all the next day. But the day after that, he found himself back on that concrete floor, naked and bleeding, and after Felding had finished, there came the potato peeler, and after that Felding had stood up and he'd pulled a long length of chain out from a corner, and he'd smiled and started swinging it experimentally, and Rusty had looked up at him and he was obviously nearly ready for round two and Rusty couldn't help but hope that maybe he might just pass out before that happened. Or die. At this stage he wasn't that fussy. And the chain came down again and again and again, until all that was left was the memory of fingers in his hair and a voice that loved him.

* * *

There was something in his arm. He could see it, in front of his face, and that just wasn't right and he had to get it out. But when he tried, he couldn't move his arms and he could hear the rattle of handcuffs. Had to get free. Had to. He pulled desperately, and struggled, and the pain that had been lurking politely at the very edges of his consciousness came crashing down on top of him, through him, inside him, and that wasn't important because he had to get free.

"Ryan! Ryan! Lie still. Jesus." He knew that voice. "You're safe, okay? You're in the infirmary."

He forced himself to lie still, ignore the agony and peer upwards and gradually the doctor's frowning face came into focus. "What's up, doc?" he said eventually.

Man didn't even crack a smile. He was losing his touch. "I was hoping you'd tell me."

With an effort, he didn't shrug. "Fell down the stairs. Again."

The doctor sighed ironically. "Of course. That explains _all _these injuries."

For a second, 'all these injuries' screamed, and Rusty forced his face to stay blank and denied they existed. "What's with the handcuffs?" he asked, in a voice that sounded a little too painfully bright, even to him.

"You're being transferred to the hospital. They're going to need to operate. Those _stairs_ tore you up pretty good this time." He sighed again. "We're just waiting for the ambulance. You won't remember from last time, but the cuffs are standard procedure."

They handcuffed him while he was unconscious. Terrific. He'd never felt less dangerous in his life. "How bad am I?"

"I don't know why you're conscious," the doctor told him, bluntly.

"I'm stubborn that way." He smiled. It hurt. "Danny says . . . " He trailed off and the doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Who's Danny?"

"No-one," Rusty said, a second too slow. "Danny's no-one."

The doctor stared at him for a long moment. Then he reached into a familiar looking file. "Ryan – "

" – the answer's still no, doc." Rusty interrupted firmly.

"You don't know what I'm about to ask."

Of course he did. Just because he was lying here bleeding didn't make him an idiot. "Next of kin?"

"Yeah," the doctor admitted.

Rusty sighed and didn't think of Saul and certainly didn't think of Danny. "There's no-one."

"There's got to be – " the doctor began, and Rusty had had enough of this conversation.

" – I'm sure you've done an examination. Just like last time. And the time before. And the time before that. It's all written down in your files. Now, tell me, if you were me, would you want your friends to know?"

The doctor's lip curled. "Because it's so embarrassing to fall down the stairs?" he suggested, bitterly.

It was too much to bear. "Yeah. I hate being clumsy." He tried to roll over. Tried to curl up. Tried to block out the pain. The handcuffs stopped all that.

Biting his lip, the doctor pulled out a syringe. "Ryan. Here. I'll put you under now."

"No." No, no, no, no. He couldn't be tied down and unconscious. Couldn't deal with that.

"You'll be more comfortable," the doctor assured him. "You won't feel a thing."

Rusty glared. "I said no. I'm still allowed to say no to _that, _aren't I?"

There was a brief look of sympathy but Rusty felt a prick in his arm and a couple of moments later the room melted away.

Apparently he wasn't.

* * *

There came a time when he missed the hallucination. Imaginary Danny didn't hate him.

* * *

Felding was paroled. No longer a danger to society, apparently. And sure, it was selfish as hell to wish him on the wider world, but when he heard, Rusty had needed to work so hard not to drop to the ground and sob with relief. It was over.

He'd walked around for two days, and he'd almost been able to smile and mean it, and it had almost felt like he was free, and then one day he'd walked round a corner and three men had bundled him into the old wood shop, and he'd heard them lock the door and he'd found himself standing in the middle of a circle of eager-looking men, and he hadn't made a sound but inside he'd been screaming.

They all seemed to be taking their cues from the man crouched on a crate. Moffatt, Rusty thought his name was. Worked in the infirmary. Been inside for years. Trustee, even. Had no kind of reputation that Rusty had ever heard.

Rusty smiled at him and made it hesitant and ingratiating and non-threatening. "Listen, I don't know what this is about, but if you have a problem with me – "

" – Oh, I've got no problem with you," Moffatt assured him. "Just here to offer you something. You'll like this." He sprang off the crate and marched up to Rusty and Rusty could feel the crowd's anticipation. Not good. So incredibly not good. Moffatt stared at him for a long moment, and then he smiled and licked his lips. "So. This is what's going to happen. You're going to get down on your knees and you're going to suck me off, nice and slow, and show me just how – _appreciative_ – you are - "

" – no – " He couldn't. Wouldn't. They'd have to kill him first. And there wasn't that many of them between him and the far door, and maybe, maybe, maybe . . .

Moffatt smiled at the interruption. " – Or else every man in this room is going to take whatever he wants from you. As many times as he wants. Now, what's it going to be? Come on, make it easy for yourself. Just give up. Drop to your knees. You might even like it." His smile widened persuasively, and Rusty could see that he meant it, that the choice was real, and it would be _so_ _much easier_ to just give in, and all he had to give up was himself, and there wasn't so much of that these days anyway. He closed his eyes and his head dropped, and when he looked up he punched Moffatt in the mouth as hard as he could and started running.

Moffatt laughed behind him. "Hey, where are you going?" he called, mockingly.

The door was locked. And the pack fell on him.

* * *

It was later, it was after, and somewhere along the lines he'd wound up naked, gagged and tied up, and everyone had left but Moffatt. And that should have been good, but the way Moffatt was looking at him, Rusty seriously doubted that it was over.

Moffatt stood over him and smiled. "You know, the moment I saw you, I knew you were something special. I knew you'd appreciate the sort of games I play. Even though I normally play them with women."

His thumb brushed over Rusty's lips and Rusty wished he could let himself cry.

"But you, why, you're nearly pretty enough to qualify, aren't you?"

If Rusty had had his hands free, he thought maybe he'd have grabbed the nearest sharp object and slashed it across his own face until Moffatt wouldn't look at him like that anymore.

"Do you know where I work?"

The infirmary. And he seemed to be waiting for an answer, so Rusty nodded.

"That's right. That's where I saw you and realised just what you are. I saw what he did to you. Felding, I mean. I saw everything he did to you. And it was beautiful." His voice was full of admiration and full of lust and Rusty fought the nausea and reminded himself that if he was sick right now, with the gag in his mouth, he'd probably die. (_And that was still bad, wasn't it?_)

Fingers trailed over the circular scars on his thighs and hip. "Of course, there are a lot of people who would be annoyed that he marked such a fine canvas." He moved on to trace up the three long scars between Rusty's navel and groin. "What did he do these with? Not simply a knife, I think."

Potato peeler. And Rusty tried not to think about the way it had felt, or the look in Felding's eyes when he held up the long twists of skin and flesh.

"And here," Moffatt's thumb rubbed over his shoulder. "Do you know, I think you could almost get his dental records off this? The man might not be able to walk and chew gum at the same time, but you have to admit, he was an artist."

Rusty tried again to loosen the ropes around his arms. Nothing happened. Once upon a time, Moffatt must have been a Boy Scout.

"Yes, I think a lot of people wouldn't be happy. But you were hardly untouched in the first place, were you?" And now the fingers were probing the old bullet scar on his side, just below his shoulder, and Rusty remembered the fear in Danny's eyes, and he wondered what Danny would say if he could see him now, and somehow he just couldn't imagine Danny would feel the same.

"Oh, yes, I knew you were something special, right from the start," Moffatt went on, and there was a light in his eyes, and his breathing was fast and harsh and Rusty wasn't sure how much he could possibly take. "You'd have to be. Do you know I haven't had sex in over a decade? Never seen anything to tempt me before now. Until you came along. Those lips. Those eyes. That little pretence of defiance. Look at you. You're practically begging for it. Oh, and I knew what you'd choose. I've met a lot of your type before. But always women in the past. You should be flattered." He leaned down and planted kisses along Rusty's jaw until he came to his ear. "You like it. You don't need to pretend with me. You _wanted_ to take them all. To have them inside you, every way, any way you can, two or three at a time. You're always desperate for it, aren't you? I bet you're a real slut out in the real world, too."

Rusty closed his eyes and shook his head, frantically. That wasn't him. That had never been him.

"You can say no all you like, but I know better. You _love _it, really. And I'm going to give it to you."

There was a crinkle of foil and Rusty opened his eyes and looked up, incredulously.

Moffatt paused in the act of unwrapping the condom and his teeth glinted unevenly. "Oh, come on. Don't forget, I know _exactly_ where you've been,"

Rusty managed to fight the urge to look away. And he was almost certain he managed to keep the shame off his face.

"It's just common sense," Moffatt went on, "If I'm going fuck a greedy little slut like you, I want some protection."

Somewhere he was crying. But not anywhere that could be seen.

Moffatt leaned forwards and gently trailed his fingers across Rusty's cheek. Involuntarily he flinched away, but that only made the ropes tighter. "I know it won't be as good for you. But don't worry. I know plenty of people who aren't as particular as me. You won't go wanting."

He must have made some noise, behind the gag. Some inarticulate sound of desperation, because a smile blossomed on Moffatt's face. "Oh? That not what you're worried about?" He watched as Moffatt pretended to consider. "Oh, I get it. Don't fret, I got a whole carton. And plenty more where that came from. We can have all the fun you can handle. And I won't tell anyone how much you like it."

* * *

It might have been the next day when he first felt hands, curious and possessive, wandering down the seams of his jumpsuit. He'd been standing in the queue for lunch. Right out in the open. In the middle of a crowd with people. And there were fingers turning his day into another nightmare. He turned round and the man behind him smiled and winked and licked his lips. Rusty remembered the man. One of the little pack that Moffatt had put together. Rusty knew him. Knew the way he felt. The way he tasted. The noises he made when he . . .

And he didn't think and he didn't hesitate and he certainly didn't bother with any control or finesse. Just swung the tray as hard as possible and watched the man's nose break and then he threw himself forwards and started punching and he didn't stop until they hauled him away and dragged him off to solitary.

* * *

Every time he closed his eyes the walls moved in a little closer. So he tried to stay awake as long as he could.

The dim lighting didn't change throughout the day, and it was only the guards bringing him meals that convinced him that time was moving at all.

After a while he pretended that he thought that Danny was sitting beside him. They were waiting in some little room, just until it was safe to come out, and then they'd be going to a restaurant – that little one on the corner with the white awning and AJ behind the bar – and Danny would try and convince him that oysters were a civilised food, and he'd try and convince Danny that crepes suzette were a fantastic way to start a meal, and in the end Danny would have his oysters and Rusty would have his crepes and they'd swap main courses halfway through. But in the meantime there was the little room (_with the locked door, but that was all right – Danny had the key_) and he was fine, and he wasn't panicking, because they were together, and there was Danny and there were jobs to plan.

He ran through everything they'd ever pulled and tried to come up with another way of doing it. Imagining if they'd had less time, or people, or resources. And when that stopped working, and the walls started creeping closer again, and he found himself tearing his fingers to shreds trying to scratch his way through solid concrete, he started to go through places he'd simply been to, wondering how they'd turn them over, if they had to. That bank in that little town they'd been stuck in for three days after the car had died in a cloud of smoke somewhere between Austin and Memphis. He was almost certain that the hotel next door had a basement that would slope right onto the side of the vault. Good munitions guy and a better cover – building inspectors? Structural emergency? He could make it work, anyway. And he was thinking about the best way of hitting that little bookstore he'd lived over for a month, when he suddenly realised that he was still thinking in terms of two. Every thought he'd ever had needed two. Two, and he was only one. Danny wasn't here.

Danny wasn't here and Rusty wouldn't want him to be anyway. That was the point; after all, he'd rather have been alone all his life than see Danny in this hell. He'd made this deal, he'd paid this price – he knew it was worth it – and he needed to start accepting what that meant.

No more Danny. No more DannyandRusty. Not ever. And Danny would be happy. He smiled. Danny had to be happy. He was almost certain that Tess would have gone back to him. And the child would be nearly two now. He thought. If there was a child. He still wasn't exactly sold on that, but he thought that was probably just because he couldn't exactly imagine Danny as a father. And that didn't mean anything; it wasn't as if he'd been able to picture Danny as a husband, and that had worked out okay after all. Apart from the obvious.

It was fairly easy to imagine Danny spoiling the child mind you. Easy to picture Danny standing in the middle of FAO Schwarz and deciding that _his_ child needed everything. At the very least. Maybe two of everything. He grinned; hopefully Tess would have the strength of mind to show some restraint.

They'd have a nice house somewhere. Maybe somewhere suburban. Like Tess had always wanted. Tess would still be working at the museum. Danny would . . . actually, Rusty didn't know. Somehow he couldn't quite persuade himself that Tess would have miraculously decided that she didn't have any problems with the job after all. So he guessed that Danny wouldn't be working. And he really couldn't imagine Danny seeking gainful employment. So maybe Danny would be doing nothing. Hanging around, playing with the child, charming the neighbours, telling anyone who asked that he was a writer. Could be a good life. (_Danny would be bored_.) Happy. Danny had to be happy. Had to be.

With a flicker of unease, he realised that his eyes were closed and he was whispering "Happy, happy, happy, happy," under his breath and that wasn't good because the walls were closer than ever and if Felding heard him there'd be pain again.

He hit his head off the wall for a while, and eventually the world went away.

* * *

After that there were always hands brushing against him, bodies rubbing past him, eyes looking through him. Everywhere he went. He couldn't escape and he didn't try fighting anymore. He saved that for the other times.

There had been times when he wouldn't see Felding for weeks at a time. He'd never been the man's only focus. Never even been the man's only bitch. It had happened . . . sixteen times in two and a half years. And it had been horrific every time, and he'd had to go to the infirmary every time and the hospital twice, and there'd been violence and there'd been sex but that had been an end to it.

With Moffatt it was different. With Moffatt it happened more often. A lot more often. And with the eager hands in public, he could never fully escape. And Moffatt _shared_.

He always ran. He always fought. And he nearly always lost.

He always had Moffatt's full attention. And Moffatt always had another game to play.

* * *

From time to time there were hands holding him up, and fingers pulling on his hair, and afterwards there was the taste and the laughter and the hands covered his mouth and nose.

Moffatt's voice. "Swallow or suffocate." And more laughter.

He was almost certain that he swallowed when he eventually passed out anyway. And there was a tiny part of him that found it a damned relief regardless. Even though he knew that when he woke up they'd already be on top of him, inside him and he'd be back to fighting the fight that he'd lost a long time ago. He didn't want to admit that those moments of nothingness were all he had.

* * *

There came a time when he stopped looking at the bars and the locks and the walls.

There came a time when he stopped looking at the sky.

There came a time when he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, where they belonged.

There came a time when he stopped dreaming.

* * *

He tried to focus on the foul taste of the cloth in his mouth. On the sharp pain in his wrists where the wire was gradually cutting into them. On anything, in fact, except the feeling of Moffatt's hand stroking and squeezing him, harshly caressing and he _didn't want it._ He didn't. He wanted it to stop, he wanted it to be over, he wanted to _die. _

_(And he wanted Danny.)_

There was a sudden surge of heat and humiliation wrapped up in raucous laughter.

Slowly Moffatt wiped his hand off across Rusty's face. Stickiness mixed with tears that he'd swear he never let fall. "There you are. Told you you liked it really."

_(Danny. Please. Danny.)_

Moffatt looked over his head, at someone he couldn't quite see. "Turn him over," he said, shortly and there was the sound of cheering.

* * *

There came a time when he couldn't exactly remember how he and Danny had met.

* * *

_After a thousand years of silent agony, he found himself back in Vegas, curled on the floor beside his bed, a sharp ache in his wrist and in his thigh, where his fingernails had been, where he'd torn into himself again and again and again and drawn blood._

_This wasn't working anymore._

_With trembling hands he reached up to the nightstand and he took out the knife and he took out the pills._

_There came a time when he surrendered._

* * *

**To answer the obvious question; yes. I could. I really could. **

**Now, this chapter has been a really long time in the writing, and I would very much appreciate any and all comments and criticisms. Thank you.**


	29. Chapter 28

**Yes, yes, yes, nearly three months. I am all shades of useless and I can only hope this chapter won't come as a disappointment.**

**And, once again, as is nearly normal with this story; it has been read by InSilva and she has helped and encouraged and supported far more than you can imagine. And, so you've heard this a hundred times before. But I still mean it. This story would be precisely nowhere without her help and input, and I just want to say thank you one more time. Thank you.**

**Oh, and if you don't know by now . . . there are distressing themes and reference to inexplicit adult themes.  
**

* * *

By the time he heard the knocking, Danny was exhausted.

He'd spent the time -and he didn't know how much time, would never know how much time - but he'd spent it slumped against the door, trying so hard to think, trying so hard _not_ to think, and his mind was trapped in inescapable circles.

He couldn't see a future. He really couldn't. He had no idea how to get them out of this hell and every time he tried to think, every time he tried to plan, his mind fled into the past. Into the past he'd spent the last four years denying.

_(The sound of joyful laughter and popcorn hitting the TV. The Kurt Russell marathon that they'd spent a weekend watching, and neither of them had ever known why. Rusty's insistence on the Freudian interpretation of a man called Snake. The fight over the remote control and the solemn one minute's silence when it had dropped into the carton of melted ice-cream. The subsequent discovery that chocolate stains just didn't come off leather. Waking up with his head on Rusty's chest, listening to Rusty's heartbeat while Kurt Russell told them that he had an aversion to getting fucked up beyond all recognition. Wasted time. Perfect time. Forever time.) _

There had been a time when all things had been possible. There had been a time when it had felt inevitable that the sunshine would last forever, when there'd been riches that should have been unloseable and unstealable, when life had tasted like summer, golden and forever. There'd been a time when the very _idea_ of one of them being alone and miserable would have been unthinkable. Because the other would be there, would always be there, and they wouldn't have to ask, but there'd be words and silence both, and laughter that transformed the world and smiles that lit up the sky, and above all, above everything, the warmth of being understood completely, of being loved eternally, of being defined in the other's eyes and smile. And he wondered; if he'd known they would come to this; if he'd known there would be four years of misery and then a lifetime of loneliness - misery and loneliness that they _chose, _that they _courted_, that they _invited_ - would he have done anything differently? Could he have treasured each moment any more than he had?

_(The sight of Rusty's smile as he pulled off the ski mask and shook out his hair. The bagful of ping-pong balls and the competition to see who could trip the most motion detectors with one throw. Twenty points when he'd managed five over his shoulder. Minus ten when Rusty had accidentally hit a Picasso on the nose. At least, they'd thought it was the nose. The indulgent sigh on the scaffolding when he'd been so sure that he was going to drop the pictures and the subsequent discussion as to whether they could be sued if the box landed on anyone. The Warhol they'd hung on their own wall for at least an hour before the doorbell rang and they'd had to hastily cover it again and stick it behind the wardrobe, before Janey asked questions that they just didn't have an answer for. They had been young, they had been brilliant and they had stood on the very edge of the infinite.)_

If he'd known . . . if he'd _known. _If he could somehow travel back in time, could tell himself about today, tell himself about the past four years, could he make all those moments mean more than they already had? If, somehow, he was able to persuade his younger self that there would come a time when Rusty would throw everything they were away, would grind it into dust, a time when he'd look Rusty in the eyes and see the pain to come and walk away, a time when he'd see Rusty lost and broken and say he didn't care, a time when Rusty would deny _they_ meant anything; if he could persuade himself that they would come to this, could he have felt it more? Could he have made each moment last a little longer? Could he have made each moment a little more full of magic? He didn't know.

_(The weight of Rusty's hand on his chest in the chill of the dark tunnel below Los Angeles. His head on Rusty's lap. The rumble of trains going past. The pain. The ____pain__. And Rusty's voice, getting him through it, soothing in the darkness. Telling him stories. Making him promises. Staying and never leaving. They'd had forever. Forever and a day and it hadn't been long enough.)_

And he thought about precious things that should be taken for granted because they'd _always_ be there, always be unbreakable, unforgettable, undeniable. He thought about always having more time, and the tears fell again.

The knocking was quiet. Tremulous and uncertain. If he hadn't been leaning against the door, he would never have heard it. As it was, he almost didn't answer. Standing up seemed like so much effort, speaking seemed unthinkable, explaining the tears, impossible.

But the knocking didn't stop, and after a moment there was curiosity and he staggered to his feet and looked through the peep-hole.

Rusty was standing there. And for a moment there was hope, and, as quickly as he could, he hauled the door open and Rusty stumbled into the room, his shoulders hunched tight, his eyes fixed on the ground, not looking at Danny, not even for a second, and he was pale and he was _shaking_, and Danny felt the grip of the burning cold, deep inside.

Before he could react, before he could even _ask,_ Rusty leaned forwards and pressed something into his hand, and he _still_ wouldn't look at Danny, and he stepped back quickly as if . . . as if he _thought_ . . . as if he was afraid. And Danny nearly cried.

He thought that was the worst. Thought that was about as bad as things could get. Then he looked down at his hand.

Danny stared at death for a very long time.

The world faded.

There was a knife. And there was a little bottle of pills.

He tried to understand.

There was dried blood clinging to the knife.

He tried to understand what he was being told.

The bottle of pills was full.

Tried to understand what he was being shown.

He was drowning in the unimaginable.

There was nothing. There was no rational thought, and death burned through his hand,and the pills and the knife fell to the floor and he didn't even think, couldn't even hesitate because all that mattered, in that moment, in that forever, all that mattered was that he reach Rusty, as quickly as possible, because he needed, _needed,_ to hold Rusty to him as tight as he could, and he wrapped his arms around him and he clung on through the silent storm of pain, of guilt, of failure and fear and he wanted so much more than he could ever say.

But Rusty still wasn't looking at him, and Danny could hear the raggedness of his breathing, could feel him trembling in his arms, and he thought of the terror and desperation of earlier ("Don't_ touch _me_"_), and he thought of Rusty not recognising him in the dark, and he thought about Carson's hands and Rusty being afraid of him, and it hurt in more ways than he could ever have imagined, but he slowly started to untangle himself, slowly started to step back, slowly started to think.

Rusty's hands immediately clenched into his shirt. Holding on and not letting go. And Rusty stepped closer to him, impossibly closer, and buried his face into Danny's shoulder and instantly, Danny's arms were back around him, and his fingers automatically wound their way into Rusty's hair.

Maybe they could stay like this forever. Maybe that would be all right.

* * *

He leaned against Danny and he didn't dare let go, and he still didn't know if he was doing the right thing.

It had seemed easy. To close his eyes and fall into old habits. To surrender to the _needing_ and the desperation and the loneliness and the one thought that sustained him through everything that had happened.

Because he hurt. He hurt so very much. And Danny had looked at him, and seen him, and Danny loved him, and he hurt so much, and he hadn't been strong enough to stay away. He'd never been that strong.

He hurt. And he was afraid.

And Danny knew.

But he'd made a choice, of sorts. He just didn't know what happened now. After all, he hadn't chosen life; he'd chosen Danny.

Where did they go from here?

* * *

It might have been minutes later, it might have been hours. He didn't know. Didn't care. He gently stepped back from Rusty, needing to _see_. And there was pain, and uncertainty and misery, and this wasn't over, and nothing was fixed and nothing was decided, and Danny was so very afraid. Carefully, he led Rusty to the sofa and sat him down.

Rusty wasn't looking at him.

Danny knew exactly what he _was_ looking at. The pills. The knife.

He just didn't know what it meant.

He bit his lip and started to explain. "Rus, I - "

"Yes," Rusty agreed, and Danny was relieved at the fact that he did understand. "Go."

Still he hesitated, and Rusty looked up at him, his face tight and miserable. "I won't move from this spot," he promised, and Danny winced. But it was what he needed to hear.

He held Rusty's hands for a fraction longer and ever so casually his fingers brushed over Rusty's left wrist. Feeling the fragile thread of pulse. Proof of life. Rusty looked away from him and he let go immediately. "Sorry," he said at once.

Getting to his feet, he picked up the knife and the pills, and he headed into the bathroom.

He flushed the pills down the toilet. Easy enough. As if they'd never been. As if he'd never insisted that Rusty get the prescription filled. As if he'd never insisted that Rusty get a nice, easy way to die. He bit back on the guilt; not helpful, a thousand times not helpful.

The wall was cool against his hand, and he needed to lean on it in order to stay standing, and he thought about alive and not-alive and how little space there was between the two. So damned easy. If Rusty wanted to. Wanted to take that step. To fall away.

The knife was more difficult. He wasn't ready to leave the suite. Not ready to be anywhere near out of ear shot. So he couldn't dispose of it properly. But he needed to make sure – he needed to do something. Only thing he could do was hide it.

When he stepped out the door, Rusty was exactly where he'd left him. And that wasn't comforting. But he lifted his head and he looked Danny in the eyes and there was the barest flicker of reassurance, the starkest suggestion of promise. And Danny concentrated on letting the truth be shown. The truth Rusty had denied earlier. Love and strength and the everything he had to offer. Whatever Rusty needed, Danny would get for him. There was the tiniest hint of an answering smile in Rusty's eyes.

He almost ran into the bedroom, determined not to take any longer time than necessary, and he dug into the drawer and came up with an assortment of socks, and hastily he unpaired them, and wrapped the knife up in one, then another, then another. Hiding it. Disguising it. (_Denying it?_)

There was a part of him that wondered why he was doing this. There was a part of him that was busy cataloguing every single sharp object in the room, busy considering just how easy it would be to tie a noose, busy reminding him that they were on the twelfth floor. So many ways. So damned easy. And he thought he'd never been this scared.

Rusty had wanted to die. Did want to die? And he couldn't help but think that probably, if Rusty wanted to, really wanted to, if he put his mind to it, there'd be no way that Danny could stop him. Because Rusty was as he'd always been; ingenious and wilful. All it would ever take would be a moment.

Danny had to stop that moment from coming into being.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked back through and Rusty still hadn't moved, and when he looked up at Danny – looked up quickly and then glanced away, stared down at the floor – when Danny saw his eyes there was a hesitation there, a question that he didn't understand.

He sat down on the sofa beside Rusty and with more effort than he could easily stand, resisted the need to reach out a hand, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to offer comfort or seek it. "What?" he asked gently.

* * *

Rusty wished Danny hadn't asked. He'd been preparing himself for the questions. Hadn't meant to let Danny see the questions he had of his own. But he had to ask, now. "You angry with me?"

There was a long pause. A long, universe-ending pause. And he stared at the ground and wondered. Because he would understand Danny's anger, just as he would understand disappointment and disgust. Weakness. He was weak and for a couple of seconds the sound of cruel laughter echoed through his soul and for a couple of seconds it seemed like the room was fading out of existence.

And then Danny was crouching in front of him and Danny's hand was hovering inches from his own. "Look at me," Danny said quietly. "Rusty, you look at me."

Reluctantly he did. Reluctantly he looked Danny in the eyes and he felt like he was falling.

Oh, Danny wasn't angry with him. Danny wasn't angry. Danny was terrified. Danny was frightened in a way that Rusty had never known him to be, standing on the edge of a precipice somewhere beyond imagination, and instinctively, Rusty reached out and grabbed his hand, grabbed Danny's hand and brought it to his lips, just for an instant, just from the always-desire to comfort, to make things better in any way impossible.

"You believe me?" Danny asked, after a time and Rusty nodded. There were things he couldn't deny. And he knew the way Danny felt.

"I don't know I can always remember," he said quietly.

Danny squeezed his hand gently. "I'll remind you," he promised. "Every second of the day, if I have to."

He felt the corner of his mouth tug sideways. "Think someone might notice," he pointed out.

Danny grinned and rocked backwards on his heels. Looking at Rusty again. There was silence that was almost comfortable.

"What do you want?" Danny asked finally, and Rusty knew the answer Danny wanted. Knew the only answer that would take that look out of Danny's eyes. And he wanted to say it, he really did. _I want to live._ Wished it was a lie he could tell.

"I don't know," he said instead and he watched the pain in Danny's eyes. "I can't live like this anymore."

Danny nodded slowly. "Tell me."

He resisted the urge to look back at the ground. Seeing Danny was like seeing everything he thought he'd given up.

"It hurts all the time, Danny. I'm scared all the time, and I can't sleep and I can't think and I'm jumping at shadows, and I'm _useless_ to you." He could hear his voice rising, could feel his heart hammering in his chest, could tell his breathing was getting shakier, and he was powerless to change it.

"It hurts so fucking much, and I can't make it stop, Danny, I can't make it stop. Carson's right,"

He heard the muffled, pained noise ripped from Danny's throat, but he didn't stop, he couldn't stop. "I'm just pathetic, and a waste of space, and you can't tell me you wouldn't be better off - "

" - _I can_."

Danny's voice was a whisper. But it carried. Rusty fell silent and stared down at the ground. Danny's hand was still in his. "Oh, Rus'."

"I can't live like this anymore, Danny," he begged eventually. "I'm not the same." He saw Danny make an abortive movement, he saw Danny had been going to reach out, stroke his hair as he had a thousand times before, in moments of pain, in moments of affection, and Danny had stopped, because he wasn't the same, wasn't at all the same. "You can touch me," he snapped, full of anger that had come from nowhere. "I won't break." _(He already had.)_

"Fucking Carson," he swore bitterly and he laughed at Danny's frown. "I had it under control. I had ways of coping . . . I'd taught myself not to mind. Touching. That it didn't mean the same thing. And then _he_ . . . his _hands. _Fuck." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I can't live like this."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Danny reach out his hand, and the fact that Danny was being so careful that he saw, that he knew what was happening, the fact that Danny knew he was so damaged, somehow that didn't stop Rusty from wanting to lean in to the gentle hand brushing through his hair. _Danny._

He kept his eyes fixed on the ground _(where they belonged)_ and hated every shred of weakness.

And still Danny stroked his hair."Look at me," he said again, and Rusty couldn't help but raise his eyes.

* * *

He told Rusty to look at him. He needed Rusty to look at him, because everything was so much harder when he couldn't see Rusty's eyes. Harder to know what Rusty was thinking. Harder to force (_not force_) Rusty to see what _he_ was thinking.

And he was frightened by the unfathomable depth of the pain in Rusty's voice, frightened by the fraying self control, frightened by the mood swings and the erratic. And he would never be better off without Rusty. He never had been better off without Rusty. His life was infinitely poorer.

He twisted his fingers through Rusty's hair, and he stared intently into Rusty's eyes. "I love you," he began, because he meant it and because he needed to say it. "I love you and I'm going to be here for you. For whatever you need. For as long as you like." He hesitated, but it was true. "For forever, if you want, if you give me the chance. We'll find a way. We'll find something."

Rusty laughed bitterly. "Trying to say it'll get better if I give it time?"

"No," Danny was patient. "That's not what I was saying."

"Because there's been time," Rusty went on, not listening, not seeing, not _seeing. _"It's been twenty-nine days. And I don't feel better."

Twenty-nine days. And if the horror wasn't busy drowning Danny, he might have found the precision amusing. But twenty-nine days, and Rusty wasn't just talking about when he'd left prison. And part of him knew that if he were to _ask,_ Rusty could give him the number in hours. "You were attacked the day you were paroled," he said slowly.

"Attacked?" Rusty grinned tightly. "Euphemisms, Danny?"

Euphemisms. He swallowed and kept talking. "So, twenty-nine days and it's not better - "

" - It's worse - " Rusty interrupted.

Danny nodded and didn't try and argue because the truth was everywhere. " - You think that - "

" - I can't _live_ like this, Danny." Rusty's voice was quiet and wild and desperate and Danny wondered if he was looking for help . . . or _permission._

"I could ask you to stay," he said quietly, after an invisible hesitation.

Rusty's face was blank. "You could."

He could. He could ask and he could persuade and he could demand, dominate, and Rusty would. He really would. For him. For a while. Danny bit his lip and kept the tears away. "I want it to be -"

"- Louis?" Rusty suggested, sardonically.

" - not just for me," Danny finished.

Rusty sighed and leaned back. "The bright blessed day, and the dark sacred night?" and the heat was gone from his voice.

There was a silence and they were caught in the memory. Was it really nostalgia when the world back in the good old days really had been better?

Rusty sighed again. "Used to be - "

" - wonderful," Danny agreed. "It did."

"I'm sorry, Danny," Rusty began quietly. "I don't know - "

And he had to interrupt. Had to. Because Rusty was apologising for being angry, for _feeling,_ for being alive, and Danny could never accept that. He told the truth. " - I'm not going anywhere."

Rusty looked at him like he wanted to believe it and Danny put everything he had into sharing the truth and for a while there was silence and a kind of comfort.

"Did you have a plan?" Danny asked quietly, after an age had passed.

Rusty shrugged. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes." He had to know. Couldn't even explain why, but he had to know if it was more than pain and desperation.

Rusty stared at the floor and curled his fingers tightly. "Was going to wait until after the job. When we're done, I would tell Saul, and whoever, that I was going to catch up with an old girlfriend. Then I'll just vanish. Head somewhere they won't have my fingerprints, make sure to lose all my ID. I've got the pills. Might get some more. An anti-emetic at least, would need that. And a few drinks. Be easy. No one will ever know . . . would have. No one would have known."

Hypnotised, Danny listened to the flat voice, the wistfulness and he imagined the days of wondering, the weeks of not knowing, the months of searching, the years, the always. "Rus' . . . " he whispered desperately, and the terror tore through his soul.

Rusty looked at him quickly. "I came to you," he said, in a low voice. "Danny, I came to you."

Danny reached out his hand, and Rusty grasped it tightly and they existed.

This time, Rusty broke the silence. "Yes. I was," he said quietly, looking anywhere but at Danny.

And for once Danny couldn't follow. "What?"

"My last day inside," Rusty explained flatly. "Just before I walked out those gates. I was fucked."

"Raped," Danny corrected, unwillingly, and the fury built up inside him, the never ending howl of outrage and mortal injury.

Rusty sighed. "Can't rape the willing," he said, and his voice was small and distant.

"_What?" _The fury was growing, a storm, and never aimed at Rusty. He couldn't think . . . no one could have made him think . . .

"There were three guards in the next room," Rusty told him, dreamy and disconnected. "All I had to do was scream. Make a sound. I didn't. That sound like rape to you?"

The smallest part of the fury crashed outwards and just because Danny's voice was a whisper didn't mean it wasn't also a scream. "You think I should be disgusted? You think I should be angry with _you_?"

Rusty looked round at him sharply, and for the first time in a while Danny could see his reflection in Rusty's eyes. "Danny . . . "

Danny looked at him, looked through him, looked at four years and looked at _them_. "I want to kill everyone who's ever hurt you. Everyone who's ever looked at you wrong. I want to give you – _us_ – our four years back."

There was a pause. There was a humourless smile. "You can't."

"I can't," Danny agreed, and the tide of fury swept back for the moment, replaced by the ache and the determination and always, always the love. "But I'm going . . . I'm going to make things better, Rus'. We're going to make things better. I promise. And I'm not going anywhere. Not for as long as you can stand having me around."

"I don't want to be alone anymore." The words came from nowhere and Rusty looked surprised by the sound of his own voice and Danny let the hope shine through his being.

"I don't want you to be alone either," and he wasn't talking about the physical. They needed each other. They really did.

"I didn't want it, Danny," Rusty whispered. "I really didn't. I swear."

Rusty's voice was pleading and beseeching and near-hopeless. As if he didn't expect to be believed. As if he couldn't imagine being believed. Danny kept his gaze steady and compassionate and he buried the howling deep inside. For the moment. "I know, Rus'. I know. It wasn't your fault. It was _never_ your fault."

"I didn't want it. He was angry. He didn't want me to leave. The parole board. He'd tried . . ." Rusty shrugged and flashed a quick smile. "I was more charming. More persuasive. That time."

Thank God, thank God, thank God.

And he could see what happened. Three guards outside the room. A man who'd been persuasive before. And Rusty didn't make a sound. "No parole if you'd been caught fighting," he stated, with just the slightest catch in his voice.

Rusty glanced at him. "I fought. I always fought. But that time . . . one bruise, one drop of blood and they would've locked me up again. Another six months? Another year? I couldn't take that chance. Like with Carson."

Danny wanted to argue with that. Oh, he understood, and much as he hated it, despite the many, many amusing thoughts he was entertaining about exactly what he was going to do with the unknown bastard, he was glad that Rusty was free. But with Carson? He'd watched Rusty sit and calculate, and he'd watched Rusty take everything that Carson threw at him, and he still didn't think it was worth it. But he couldn't argue. He really couldn't. Because that wasn't four years of pain and misery acting. That was Rusty, and this wasn't the time to be having that argument. Besides, neither of them ever won.

And he'd wanted to try and explain some of that, but when he looked over, Rusty was staring at the floor again and his fingers were rubbing at the bandage on the burn on his wrist, and Danny could see where it was starting to show red. "Leave it. Please," he said firmly.

Rusty's fingers stopped immediately. "I didn't notice. Sorry."

Danny nodded and didn't comment, and he set about fixing the dressings. At some point in the evening, Rusty had added to Carson's work. Danny could see where the burns had been scratched open, raw and weeping and ugly. Carson again, and Danny pushed that particular dagger of anger away once more.

"There," he said, when he was done, and he hesitated. Because there was more. He knew there was more. "The knife . . . " he started reluctantly.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed.

"There was blood on it," Danny said, swallowing hard. And he didn't want to ask the question, didn't want there to be a question. He wanted to live in a world where the question was ridiculous and unthinkable.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed again.

Danny nodded slowly. "Rus', I'm sorry. I need to see."

And he sat back, expecting Rusty to roll up his sleeves, prepared to see the cuts, ready to try and understand, and he didn't fully understand the spasm of misery and fear that crossed Rusty's face.

* * *

Rusty closed his eyes for a long moment and tried to ignore the adrenaline and the ridiculous, irrational terror. Some things he wasn't prepared to admit. He took a deep breath and stood up, and blindly he reached down and undid his belt.

With a vague curiosity, he saw Danny's hand quickly reach out and stop, millimetres from his own. "Don't," and Danny's voice was abrupt and pained.

There was a long pause, and Rusty still stood, and his eyes were fixed to the ground.

"Should've asked where," Danny commented finally, and Rusty looked up sharply, because Danny's voice was full of weary, bitter amusement.

"My thigh," Rusty told him quietly.

Danny nodded. "You're determined not to make this easy, aren't you?" he asked, light and tender and Rusty felt the grin flicker across his face.

"Yeah," he agreed, and the laughter in his voice was still just about on the right side of hysterical. "Don't know what I was thinking."

There was a sigh and Danny was watching him and his face was full of sympathy and understanding. "We don't have to do this. I've got dressings and stuff here. You want, you should do it yourself. I don't - "

That sounded good. Except for one thing. " - I don't trust you, I might as well be dead already," he whispered and he carried on watching the tender ache in Danny's eyes as he slid his pants off and let them fall in a heap on the floor.

"You haven't got any neater in the past four years," Danny commented casually, as Rusty sat back down on the sofa.

He shrugged. "My way of rebelling against cell checks."

It was Danny. That's what he had to keep telling himself. Despite what his body was telling him, despite the fight or flight and the hammer of adrenaline as Danny quietly set about checking and fixing up the mess he'd made of his thigh, it was Danny, and that meant that he was as safe as he'd ever been in his life. He had to listen to his soul.

* * *

Rusty trusted him. Danny had to keep telling himself that, as he tried not to watch Rusty trembling. Rusty trusted him, so the urge to apologise, the urge to stand well back and apologise for everything in the world, that was just counter-productive.

He tried not to look at the other scars either. The little, pockmark-like circular indentations that ran up Rusty's other thigh and under his boxers. The faded red stripes that he could see curved round the back of Rusty's legs, moving higher and higher. The glimpse of the three white scars that he caught, just above Rusty's boxers, when Rusty had leaned forwards and his shirt had opened slightly.

He tried not to look. Because if he looked he would think, and he would imagine, and he would envisage, and he didn't know if there was a power on Earth that could hold him.

And then he moved the dressing aside, and Rusty clenched his jaw and reached out and held tightly on to Danny's shoulder and, yes, he considered. There was one.

The wounds were deep. Not the shallow cuts he'd been imagining. These were deep. As if Rusty had really driven the knife in. Had stabbed the knife into himself, and then twisted and tore at the wounds with his fingernails – and suddenly Danny had a flash to earlier in the evening, to Rusty standing there with his hand pressed into his thigh, hurting himself, _hurting himself_ while Danny looked on, and his very soul whimpered. These weren't what he'd been imagining.

And he could just about understand the hand. Not exactly, but he had a picture, an image, of a sudden flash of rage and confusion and terror and being lost, and striking out blindly. He could understand that. It terrified him beyond imagination, but he could understand. He didn't understand this. Couldn't even begin to, and even as he treated the physical wounds, he was thinking about the hatred that they implied, and he didn't know where to begin.

* * *

Rusty could see the thoughts play out in Danny's mind and he sighed and spoke up quietly. "It isn't about that,"

He could feel Danny freeze under his hand. He'd needed to reach out. Needed. The reminder, the comfort, the anchor. And Danny looked up at him, and studied him carefully for a long moment and said nothing.

Rusty felt compelled to explain. "It helps." And Danny's face didn't change and he still fell into defensiveness. "No, really it does. When I . . . get lost. In the past. It gives me something else to focus on. Something that I can use to stay in the present. Like I can make myself think that there's more danger _here." _He shrugged. "It helps."

Danny nodded slowly and his face was completely neutral. "Would you like the knife back?"

Yes. He would. He really, really would. He wanted it back because then he had options and he had choices, and he had a weapon against the darkness and the fear and himself. But he'd gone to Danny. He'd gone to Danny. He closed his eyes. "No," he said firmly.

When he opened his eyes again he was bathed in the sunlight of Danny's relief. "What would you have done if I'd said yes?" he asked wonderingly.

"We'd have been leaving the hotel. Now. We'd have been leaving Vegas, heading for someplace," he shrugged. "Someplace else. Someplace safe. I admit I'm a little hazy on the details."

"We couldn't," Rusty frowned. "It's the night before, the job, Carson . . . " He trailed off and he looked at Danny, _really_ looked at Danny and there was everything he thought he'd chased away so very long ago. Eternal. Unbreakable. Beyond imagination. Beyond belief. Beyond limits. "_Oh," _he whispered, in dawning understanding, in dawning belief. Because Danny could. He would.

"I don't have anything more real. I don't have anything more important," Danny said softly and Rusty nodded.

Danny finished wrapping his thigh in silence, and this time he didn't need to remind himself that he was safe.

* * *

Danny settled back onto the sofa and they both jumped at the sound of Rusty's phone jangling. Rusty looked at the display for a second and then pushed it towards Danny. "Saul," he explained. "I was supposed to go talk to him after I talked to you."

"You didn't," Danny said, and that could have been so much worse. He didn't take the phone. "Think he wants to talk to you." He didn't want to make Saul any more worried than he already was.

Rusty shrugged awkwardly. "Think he'll be happy to talk to us."

Danny stopped breathing. "He can talk to _us_?" he asked, understanding, of course understanding everything that meant, and he couldn't remember the last time he felt this giddy.

"Think I take my pants off in front of just anyone?" There was a definite twist of a smile on Rusty's lips, and he nodded, and Danny found himself taking the phone happily. And he was happier still, when Rusty leaned into his shoulder, lying almost against him, close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, close enough to accept the comfort that Danny was offering.

"Hi, Saul," he began and winced as Saul immediately began talking. Frantic. Worried.

"Danny? Where is he? Is everything all right?"

Danny glanced down at Rusty and saw the nod, the permission to share as much of the truth as they ever would. "He's with me. And no. Everything's not all right. But it's going to be." And the promise wasn't just for Saul.

There was a long silence. "You're . . . " Saul began, and trailed off.

"Yes," Danny agreed. "We are."

"Rusty's there?" Saul asked.

"Hey, Saul," Rusty answered, sitting up a little closer to the phone.

"You're okay?" Saul asked, and Rusty considered.

He licked his lips and glanced at Danny. "Going to be," and again the promise was for more ears than Saul's.

"Good," and the relief in Saul's voice was immeasurable. "Good. Try not to let this happen again."

"We won't," they chorused as one.

Saul snorted. "Why did I ever think I missed that?"

There was a shared look, a shared decision. Danny began. "Life is less - "

" - oh, definitely less - "

" - and with more - "

" - exactly," Rusty finished.

They weren't better. They could get better, Danny thought, hoped, knew, but they weren't there yet, and until that happened, even with Saul there was a need to hide, to pretend, to act, to defend themselves.

And he already knew that Saul wouldn't be fooled, but he would accept, to a certain extent, and there was understanding in his voice. "Night before. I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"We'll see you in the morning," Danny agreed. "Goodnight,"

"Goodnight," and the phone went silent.

He looked over at Rusty thoughtfully. "He has a point. We have a busy day tomorrow."

"You need your beauty sleep," Rusty agreed, and Danny grinned.

Neither of them even considered the idea that Rusty might sleep in his own room. They were together.

* * *

Danny had dug out a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants for him, and had thoughtfully busied himself fixing a couple of drinks while Rusty changed. And that was good, because no matter what he knew, there were probably places where he could overstretch his nerves. Besides, he'd seen Danny's face when he'd seen the scars he'd seen. And that had only been glimpses of the edges. Rusty wasn't quite ready to show him everything.

He sat on the edge of the bed and sipped at the whisky and tried to ignore the way that the clothes hung on him. Because, yes, anything he borrowed from Danny would always have been big on him. But not this big. And he'd seen the look in Danny's eyes at the contrast, before Danny got it all locked away, and he hated it. "You put on weight while I was away," he said, after a second.

Danny blinked and smiled. "What comes of not having you there, stealing my food."

"Nah," Rusty shook his head. "It's your age catching up with you. The middle age spread. You're getting old."

"Old?" Danny reacted with great indignation. "I'd remind you, Rusty Ryan, that I'm only - "

" - but I'm always going to be younger," Rusty interrupted, triumphantly.

Danny laughed and leaned against the wall. "I could sleep on the couch," he offered, sudden and awkward.

Rusty's approximation of a good mood faded. Danny wanted to get away from him. (_Like in the kitchen, after Felding._) And the sensation of filth, the reminder that he was pathetic, and dirty and insignificant and disgusting came crashing back, full force, and he could feel the weight of Moffatt's hand on his head, as he forced him to . . . and he squeezed his eyes shut and instinctively his hand travelled to his thigh, craving the hit of pain, the reminder of reality. . .

And suddenly Danny was in front of him, holding his hand firmly away, calling his name anxiously.

Rusty opened his eyes and stared into Danny's and spoke quickly, words falling over each other. "Don't leave. Please, Danny. I promise I won't get in your way. I won't touch you. I won't argue. I'll be good. I'll be anything, if you'll just stay, just for a while. Please, Danny."

Danny was staring at him and Rusty stopped talking, stopped pleading because the look in Danny's eyes . . .the _look_ in Danny's _eyes._ He'd never meant to cause that sort of pain. "Rus' . . . " and Danny's voice was trembling. "I just thought it might make you more comfortable. I never . . . I'd never _want . . . _" He shook his head and squeezed Rusty's hand tighter. "You. Only you."

And he wanted to apologise, but he could see in Danny's face the warning that that was the very last thing that Danny could cope with right now, and he'd _never_ meant to hurt like that. "You thought it might make me more comfortable?" he asked instead.

Danny nodded shakily. "Not - "

He grinned. " - you'd be amazed how few of them wanted to curl up in bed with me." And he winced, because he could see in Danny's face that he'd just thoughtlessly revealed a little more than he'd meant to.

With a shake of his head, he lay down, and he pulled Danny down beside him, and they lay, side by side, holding hands and neither of them made a move to turn the light off.

* * *

He'd left the bed, he'd left the room, he'd left Rusty and he didn't know why. Just needed space? Just needed air? There hadn't seemed to be any real reason, and he was standing in the corridor and he had to get back inside.

It took him a couple of minutes to get the key card to work and with every moment that passed his irrational fear grew.

The room was dark when he stepped inside. Dark and silent and cold, and Danny's heart was pounding in his chest as he pushed open the bedroom door and turned on the lights.

There was so much blood.

Rusty lay, stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and expressionless and dead, and the knife was still clutched in his hand, dangling over the side of the bed, and his arms, wrist to forearm he'd slashed them open, again and again and again, and Danny could see the hatred in every last gash, wide open and obscene, and the sheets were soaked red, and the blood was dripping onto the carpet, and Rusty was just lying there, staring at the ceiling.

He was standing next to the head of the bed. Looking down at Rusty. And his fingers hovered over Rusty's throat, searching for the pulse, for the difference between alive and not.

And he touched Rusty, and Rusty's skin was cool and dry, but the blood was hot and sticky and it flowed over his fingers, and Rusty's eyes were empty and staring and Danny could hear the scream rising up inside him, desperate to escape . . .

Rusty made the smallest of noises in his sleep and immediately Danny was awake, trembling, heart hammering in his chest, but awake. His eyes snapped open to the sight of the blood-free bedroom and he pushed the nightmare firmly back into the deepest recesses of his subconscious to be dealt with in some future time, hopefully never.

He sat up and looked down at Rusty. Rusty was (_alive_) curled on his side, turned away from Danny, and Danny could see him shaking, could hear him breathing, fast and terrified.

"Rusty!" he called, and he reached out a hand, ready to wake Rusty up.

* * *

He was back in the solitary cell again, sitting with his back against the wall whilst Moffatt's solicitous hand held the cold compress to the lump on the back of his head; and Moffatt's poisonous voice whispered in his ear. "You really missed me this much? Oh, I'm flattered, but I'm afraid we can't have fun right now. I'm working."

He shuddered and dug his fingernails into his hands. He shouldn't be here. He had to get back to Vegas. Had to get back to Danny.

"You really hate it here that much?" Moffatt asked, sympathetically. "Yeah, it must be difficult for you. To be alone and unfilled. No one to show off to. No one looking at your bedroom eyes, your hungry little mouth. No one to notice that little sway when you walk that just screams "fuck me". No one to watch you shake that perfect, fuckable ass."

He wasn't able to make a sound. And he gazed, desperately, entreatingly towards the guard, just on the other side of the door. But his back was turned and he was still talking to the nurse.

Moffatt moved the compress aside for a moment, tutted sadly and replaced it. "I explained to Simon - " He paused. "That's the man whose nose you broke. You do know his name, don't you?"

Rusty shook his head. Moffatt clicked his tongue again.

"Honestly, I don't mind your . . . appetite . . . but you could at least make an effort to know the names of the men who are nice enough to give you what you need. Else you'll get even more of a reputation than you already have." He sighed disapprovingly. "Anyway, I explained to Simon that you were upset because you didn't feel he was enough of a man to satisfy you." Moffatt paused. "He was a little upset about that, actually. Says he's looking forward to making you eat those words."

Rusty fought down the need to punch Moffatt. Couldn't do that. Couldn't.

"Of course," Moffatt went on casually."You could always hit him again. Then you'd end up here again. Trapped in this little room. Twenty-four hours a day, with no way out, with no chance of seeing daylight, with nowhere to run to. This little, enclosed, coffin of room. Wouldn't that be nice?"

He had to bite into his lip to stop the whimper escaping. And Moffatt noticed. Of course.

"You know, if you really need to get out of here, there are ways," he suggested, sympathetically. "I know the guard there. He's a nice guy. He'd be happy to help you. And all you'd need to do is do him a little favour in return. You wouldn't mind that, would you? You'd like it, even. Putting that hungry little mouth of yours to its proper use?"

And Rusty looked up sharply, because this was different than last time. Oh, the words were the same. But this time, this time Moffatt wasn't lying. And Rusty was supposed to be in Vegas right now, it was the night before, and he was needed, they needed him, Danny needed him, so if there was a chance to leave, he had to take it, didn't he? Danny would understand. He had to get back and do his job.

He chewed on his lip, and as the guard walked in he'd made up his mind and he was prepared to slide onto his knees, and Moffatt was rubbing his shoulders comfortingly, and he looked at the guard . . . Except it wasn't the guard. It was Carson.

Carson was standing there, and his smile was bright and genuine and his hand was on his zipper. "I like you, Robert. And you're going to let me do whatever you want, aren't you?"

Rusty wasn't screaming. He wasn't. And suddenly he was on his knees and Moffatt was easing his jumpsuit off, and Carson was closer and Rusty tried to look up at his face but his head was firmly forced back down.

"_Rusty!"_

And that was Danny's voice, and please, don't let Danny . . .

"_Rus'!"_

_. . . _be here, don't let Danny see this, because he couldn't stand to see the disgust in Danny's soul that he felt in his own . . .

"_Rusty! You're not there." _

There was concrete beneath his knees _(he was lying on his side.) _There was a foul taste in his mouth _(his mouth was closed.) _

"_Look around you. You're not there. You're with me. You're with me and you're safe. I promise._

And Moffatt's hand was rubbing down him. _(On his shoulder) _And it was harsh and it was cruel. _(No. Danny.) _

"_You're not there."_

He wasn't there.

The solitary cell faded away and he was lying in bed, looking up at Danny, and with a blink, he forced the misery and hope off his face and lay trembling, and waited for the familiar rejection.

* * *

Rusty had opened his eyes almost immediately. Had woken up almost immediately. Except he hadn't, and Danny had been afraid. And all he'd been able to do was promise that it wasn't real, any more, that Rusty was safe.

And then Rusty had come back to himself, and he'd watched the relief fade away to be replaced with blankness and neutrality and this wasn't what he wanted. "I'm with you," he whispered insistently. "I'm with you and I'm never going to leave." He asked permission with his eyes, and waited for the puzzled nod, and he bent down and kissed Rusty's hair and wrapped his arm tight around Rusty's shoulders. "I'm here," he promised. "I'm here. Always."

And Rusty looked at him for a long moment and Danny's breath caught in his throat, because Rusty _believed,_ in an instant, Rusty believed him and the smile dawned like the first perfect morning after a long, cold winter.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Would love to know what you think.**


	30. Chapter 29

**This story is now moving in to the actual job. Well. Just about. At any rate, it is my intent to assume that everyone remembers what the Benedict job actually entailed and skim over it to some degree, just concentrating on the parts that are changed in this AU for various reasons - lack of fight, lack of Tess, lack of mock argument between Danny and Rusty, addition of Carson plus the thousand of emotional complications that blithely leapt into this fic. Just so you know. **

* * *

There wasn't much conversation. Day of the job and everyone was gathered in Livingston's room, waiting. And Reuben hated this bit anyway, but normally there would be a buzz. An energy. Seemed as though that was missing tonight.

Of course it was better than last night. He'd sat with Saul for an hour while Livingston explained what had gone on and he thought about Rusty suffering and Danny watching. The hour after that he'd spent with Saul, discussing the best ways to rip Carson limb from limb. Seemed like that was the only thing he could possibly do that would help. And even that, not so much. Well, he _said_ discussing. Really, Saul hadn't joined in. Too busy pacing and brooding. Not like Reuben could blame him. And, despite wanting to, he couldn't really blame him for keeping what Rusty had told him about four years ago quiet, either. Confidences had to be kept, Reuben understood that. And he couldn't help but regard the fact that Rusty had voluntarily told even Saul, as a minor miracle. Maybe a sign of the apocalypse. Rusty had never really been much on sharing. Except with Danny.

He glanced at his watch. Danny and Rusty weren't late. Not yet. But they were the last to arrive and that was almost unheard of, and he'd be even more worried than he was if it wasn't for the fact that Saul was calm.

Saul had apparently spoken to the boys last night, after the dust had settled. And he'd said to Reuben that he thought that maybe – maybe – everything was going to be all right. That he was optimistic.

Three decades and that was a first.

At this stage he wouldn't believe anything till he saw it for himself.

He sighed. The boys. That was the way they'd always thought of Danny and Rusty. Him and Bobby and especially Saul. They'd watched them grow into men anyone would be proud to know and yeah, they'd always been protective of them. When they got the chance. Wasn't that often. Wasn't like any of them had been able to help four years ago. Wasn't like any of them had stopped Carson last night. He wavered between guilt and anger for a long moment and then he thought about Rusty shying away from him in the hallway and settled for absolute fury. He closed his eyes for a long moment. Leave emotion at the door. Right.

He glanced around the room. Everyone looked withdrawn and sullen. Not the feeling there should be just before a job. Damnit, he should never have even mentioned Benedict to Danny. Should have left well enough alone.

And where the hell were they, anyway?

Finally the door opened and Danny and Rusty walked in.

He noticed the irrelevant first. Apparently they were late, or nearly so, because they'd gone to Starbucks. Danny was holding a cup of coffee and Rusty was taking a sip from what appeared to be a cup of cream and ice and pink.

And that wasn't important, of course that wasn't what was important. Because Danny was grinning happily, laughing at whatever Rusty had just said, and he was looking at Rusty and his eyes were warm and tender and open. And Rusty was smiling into his drink and there was just something about him that was different. He looked more relaxed than Reuben had seen him in a very long time.

Neither of them looked at anyone else in the room.

"Wait, wait, wait," Danny laughed. "_With_ the floor polish?"

"Uh huh," Rusty grinned. "Three tins."

Danny smiled some more. "So he was standing there - "

" - Yes," Rusty said immediately, then considered. "Well," he clarified. "Just his socks."

"Huh." Danny paused for a long moment. "Well, you can't break an omelette - "

" - without losing eggs," Rusty agreed. "Yeah."

Danny stood in the centre of the room and looked round at them, and smiled. Rusty perched on the arm of the sofa, just behind him, and carried on drinking his pink whatever.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Danny began and paused at the looks that came his way. "What?" he asked, and his eyes were full of laughter.

There was a very different feeling in the air now. Definite energy in the room. Reuben could feel the smile splitting his face and he had to resist the urge to rub his hands together with glee. Oh, suddenly he knew they could do this, Carson be damned.

* * *

Linus had only asked for a couple of last minute hints. Technically, this was nothing that he hadn't done before. But the stakes had never been so high, and the mark had never scared him so much, and all he'd been looking for was a little advice. He'd just wanted to know how to make Sheldon Willis as believable as possible.

Rusty had smiled, sat down on the bed and studied him for a long moment. "Where you gonna put your hands?" he began eventually.

Linus blinked and moved them in front of him, trying to look nondescript and unnoticeable.

"No good." Danny's voice came from the doorway and Linus twisted round to see him leaning against the frame, smiling. Automatically he moved his hands away.

"Don't touch your tie, look at me," Rusty said immediately and Linus turned back round. "Okay, I ask you a question and you have to think of the answer, where you gonna look?"

Where would he normally look, he wondered, and found himself looking down.

"No good," Rusty said firmly. "You look down they know you're lying."

"Look up and they know you don't know the truth," Danny added, equally definitely, and where did that leave that he was able to look, exactly?

Rusty smiled. "Don't use seven words - "

" - if twelve - " Danny added.

" - four - " Rusty corrected.

" - will do," Danny finished, seemingly not too bothered about being wrong.

Linus was beginning to feel like the net at a tennis match.

"Don't shift your weight," Danny told him quickly, and he realised he'd been doing just that.

"Look always at the mark - " Rusty continued and automatically Linus twisted round to catch Danny's finish to the sentence.

He wasn't disappointed and Danny smiled slightly. " - but don't stare."

"Be - "

" - specific - "

" - but not memorable."

"Be funny - "

" - but don't make him laugh," Rusty looked at him intently. "He's got to like you and then forget you the moment you've left his sight."

There was a noise from behind him that might have been agreement and might have been something else and Rusty glanced over his shoulder at Danny and smiled a little and Linus felt as if something was going on that he didn't understand.

He sighed. Oh, this was just ridiculous. He knew he was being played. Knew it. Right up till the point where Rusty looked back at him and leaned forwards, all trace of amusement gone. "And for God's sake - "

" - whatever you do - " And Danny sounded every bit as serious, and he found himself listening anxiously

" - don't - "

" - under any circumstances - "

"Guys!" Livingston's voice broke the moment and Rusty immediately looked up. "Yeah?" he called back.

"Need you to take a look at something." Livingston sounded anxious. Well, more than usual.

"Right," Danny agreed and they walked away before he could scream at them which was possibly just as well.

He watched them leave and tried to figure out just what he was feeling, other than irritation. Okay, terror was most of it right now, but that was for Carson and Benedict. What he was feeling about them was a lot harder to figure out. Danny and Rusty. Or, possibly, DannyandRusty. And he really didn't understand. Not in the slightest.

Things were different this evening. Things were very different. And he thought he'd seen Danny happy before, but never like this. And he didn't understand how it had happened. Hell, he didn't even understand what it was. But he'd never seen two people looking at each other like that. As if the whole world could just melt away and they wouldn't even notice.

He didn't understand. Not any of it.

Last night he'd called his dad, knowing full well that it was a bad idea for more reasons than just toe obvious. And, of course, Dad had told him so, but apparently he'd been able to hear the uncertainty in Linus' voice, and they'd gone on to small talk and discussing random things about the job, until Linus had finally managed to say what he needed to.

"If someone went to prison to save you, would you be mad at them?" he blurted out.

There was a long pause and Linus got the distinct impression that his attempt at a hypothetical question had fallen flat on its face. Dad sighed. "They always were too damned close."

He winced. "I didn't say - "

" - of course you didn't," Dad interrupted. "Don't worry about it."

"I just don't understand," he admitted desperately. "Why would Rusty do that? Why would Danny be that angry with him? How could Danny let Carson . . . " he trailed off, knowing that some things he really needed to keep quiet about.

"Let Carson what?" his dad asked sharply.

"Doesn't matter," he tried dismissively.

Of course, that had never worked on his dad. "Carson hurt Rusty?"

"No," he denied immediately and he heard his dad swear and winced because he'd failed and this was a little more important than when he'd been a kid, trying to hide who threw the ball through the window. "Dad, please," he begged, and surprisingly his dad had backed off.

"Danny and Rusty were always different," he told Linus after a couple of seconds. "Closer than . . ." He sighed and started over. " You know, you're probably one of the only people who know them who can think of them separately. And Rusty would give anything to keep Danny safe."

"So why would Danny be angry with him?" Linus asked quietly.

There was a pause, and he knew his dad was trying to figure out what to tell him. "At a guess? Because more than anything in the world Danny wanted Rusty safe. And Rusty knew that and still went behind his back. And knowing that Rusty was hurting because of him? That would kill Danny."

Linus had tried to understand that. He really had. But he kept thinking about Carson hurting Rusty and Rusty hurting himself, and Danny knowing and not doing anything, and he thought about the things Carson had said and he wondered, and he hadn't known what to think.

And now he was watching them. Watching them being the way they always should have been. The way he'd have known them from the start, in an ideal world. And the intensity was almost frightening. As if they were determined to make the most of every single moment. As if every single moment could be their last.

For some reason, he found himself thinking about a conversation he'd had with Danny in a bar a very long time ago.

"_You ever loved someone, Linus? Really loved them, I mean. Like, loved everything about them, die for them in a heartbeat, world's brighter when they smile at you, finish each others sentences kind of love?"_

He thought he understood now.

Amazing. And terrible.

* * *

Livingston glanced round when he heard Danny and Rusty step up behind him. Danny was peering over his head at the monitors with a kind of proprietary interest while Rusty, resting an elbow on Danny's shoulder, leaned in for a closer look.

He caught sight of Linus glancing their direction through the bedroom door, still looking confused. "You're not very nice people. You know that, right?"

They grinned at him and somehow he realised for the first time that he'd missed _them_ not just Rusty.

"What have we got?" Danny asked.

He turned his attention back to the monitors. "Bureau's moved in," he explained and pointed out the agents stationed on the floor and the cars idling at the back exit.

"Any sign of Carson and Rhino-boy?" Danny asked, scanning the screens intently.

"Huh." Rusty sounded thoughtful.

Danny looked at him. "What?"

"Sounds like a superhero team," Rusty explained.

"Supervillain," Danny corrected and Livingston smiled and listened.

Rusty frowned at Danny. "Thought we were supervillains?"

"Left my secret underground base in my other jacket," Danny grinned, then turned serious. "Roman all set?"

"Yeah," Rusty nodded. "Just waiting for the number."

"Okay then," Danny began, then frowned. "Would you look at that?"

They watched as one of the FBI agents took a couple of moments out of his vigilant surveillance to lose fifty dollars at Blackjack.

"Gambling with government money." Danny shook his head sorrowfully.

"Badly," Rusty added, and Livingston only just managed to stop himself from asking.

"What do we pay our taxes for?" Danny asked and there was a somewhat awkward silence.

"Taxes?" Rusty asked, finally.

"Went straight for three years, remember?" Danny pointed out. "For three years, me and the IRS were like that." He held up his crossed fingers.

There was a long, thoughtful pause.

"You want your money back, don't you?" Rusty said eventually, and it wasn't a question.

Danny grinned. "Is that so wrong?"

Rusty smiled. "Maybe when we're done here," he offered.

They drifted away, still chatting and Livingston wondered about how happy he felt. It was good to see them back together again. Good to see them whole.

He'd tried to apologise for what he'd said last night, and Danny had just looked at him, like it had taken him a couple of moments to remember what had happened. Then he'd shaken his head and said not to worry about it. Like that was going to happen.

But it seemed as though Rusty and Danny wanted to act as though nothing in the world had ever been wrong, and he supposed that he could go along with that, if they wanted.

He just hoped they knew what they were doing.

* * *

Saul was supposed to be concentrating on becoming Lyman Zerga. It was proving a little difficult. There was a lot of other things on his mind.

He couldn't help but be relieved that the plan didn't involve Danny and Rusty spending much time in the same room together. He seriously doubted that they'd be able to hide the shine.

They were practically glowing every time they looked at each other, and they were looking at each other even more than usual. Like they were meeting for the first time. Like they couldn't believe they were lucky enough to live in a world where the other was real. There were smiles and jokes and incomprehensible conversations that went on forever and it was just like the past four years hadn't happened.

And Saul knew it was a lie.

Oh, not all of it. The shine was real enough – that probably couldn't be faked, even by them. Saul felt certain that they were back to being the indivisible and the inexplicable. And he had no doubt that they were indeed feeling somewhat – giggly, was the word that sprung to mind. Giddy was probably preferable.

And that was good and the happiness burned bright inside him, but he also saw the rest. He saw how Danny was casually making sure that Rusty was always in his line of sight. He saw how Rusty was making it easy for him. He saw how a couple of times Danny ended up brushing Rusty's hand or arm, as if by accident, and an accident was the last thing it was about. He saw the moment when Rusty's hand had been hovering over his thigh and he'd reached out and grabbed Danny's arm instead, making some joke about trying to get his attention, and there'd been something there that Saul didn't understand, something around fear and need. Most of all, he saw the remains of terror and misery and he saw their choice to bury it out of sight, beneath a layer of confidence and invulnerability.

And really he understood that. Didn't necessarily like it, but he understood. There was the practical – day of the job, last thing they wanted was to admit to having human weaknesses. And there was no denying that the very fact of DannyandRusty had made a huge difference to the group. They'd always inspired confidence. Always seemed as though they were certain that they couldn't possibly lose. Like they'd never been hurt in their lives. And that was a lie too, of course. But it was one they'd always tell. Oh, he'd seen it all before. In times of trouble their instinct had always been to stand as close together as possible and not let their problems so much as touch anyone else. They retreated into a world of two and it hurt a little.

Still. They had to be better. Didn't they?

There was a light knock on the door and Rusty was standing in the doorway. "Saul? Ten minutes." He paused. "You okay?"

Saul smiled at him in a way that Lyman Zerga never could. "I should be asking you that."

With a nod, Rusty stepped inside and closed the door behind him and stood, allowing Saul to study him.

He was still too thin. Still too pale. Still exhausted, still tense, still far too jumpy. But there was something else there now. Something about his eyes. Some light or life that Saul had barely understood was missing until he saw the faintest glimmer of it's return. "How are you?" he asked intently.

"I'm doing better," Rusty said, and he looked Saul in they eyes and his voice was sincere.

Saul nodded. "That's what you've been saying for the past week."

There was a pause and Rusty's eyes drifted to the floor. Saul bit his lip and worried. "Rusty?" he prompted gently.

"I was lying, Saul," Rusty admitted quietly.

And that was terrifying and there were a thousand questions that Saul wanted, needed, to ask. He settled on the most urgent. "But you're not lying now?"

"No," Rusty told him. "I'm not. Danny . .. " he trailed off.

"Danny," Saul agreed, understanding everything that could never be said.

"We talked," Rusty shrugged. "We're talking." He paused. "You were right. He does care."

Saul smiled. There was an understatement and a half. "Like he could stop," he said gently.

Rusty nodded. "You angry with me?" he asked abruptly, and the question was genuine, and Rusty thought Saul could be angry with him for being hurt and lying, and he had to work hard to keep everything that he felt off his face.

He took a deep breath. "There are three people I am angry with right now, Robert. You are not on that list."

Anger barely began to describe the fury he felt towards Carson every time he caught sight of the bandage at Rusty's wrist. And there was another man, walking in the world right now, who had done so much worse and one day Saul would like the opportunity to stand in front of him and explain exactly why that was a mistake. And the simple truth of the matter was that he himself should have managed to do more, to protect, to support. He should have done more. Three people. Rusty was not one of them.

"What are you planning on doing after the job?" he asked, needing to move on before Rusty asked.

There was a hesitation that he didn't understand, and for a second the feeling of wrongness came back. Then Rusty smiled. "I don't know. I think my plans have changed. Suppose I'm with Danny."

"I think he'd like that," Saul said gently.

Rusty nodded slowly. "I didn't tell you about Carson," he said with surprising suddenness.

Saul noticed it wasn't an apology. Not even an admission that he should have or could have acted differently. "I would have made you stop. So would Danny."

Rusty nodded again and his eyes were dark.

Saul sighed. "I'm not angry with you. And I don't feel sorry for you. But no-one here is going to let _anyone_ get hurt if they can help it. No-one here is going to let anyone suffer on their own if they can put a stop to it. It's why we are who we are. It's why we do what we do." He stood up and busied himself, fixing Lyman Zerga's tie and pretended he wasn't watching Rusty in the mirror, wasn't watching the emotions play through. "I would like it if you could remember that fact."

There was a knock at the door and Rusty turned round. "Danny," he said.

"Danny," Saul agreed. He was surprised that Danny had given them even this long. Later, there would be more talking. Later, probably, there would be a lot more talking. Right now they had three casinos to rob. "Let's do this."

* * *

**And there we go. Short chapter. Well, compared to the previous two chapters that lasted forever**


	31. Chapter 30

**New chapter of this . . . tonight, since InSilva insisted. ;) Like I really mind. **

**We have the job properly now, and as I said, am skimming over the details that we can all be expected to know and just concentrating on the things that are different owing to the Carson factor and the emotional complications.**

**And, although I'd be astounded if this surprised anyone by now, there is brief scene of adult implications and unpleasantness. **

**And it's not fight night. Hence the less money. It was implied chapters and chapters and chapters ago that it wouldn't be and it isn't.  
**

* * *

Danny leaned against the door and looked at Rusty and fought down the urge (_need)_ to reach out and touch him, to be certain he was real and alive, fought down the desire to grab him and run away from everything to somewhere safe, some secluded world of two they could hide in for the rest of their lives.

"What did you tell Saul?" he asked casually, once he was sure no one was in earshot.

"The truth," Rusty shrugged. "Reassuring version."

He nodded slowly and didn't ask for details. Those kind of details were out today. Today was all about acting normally – being the them they were meant to be – and focusing on the job. They'd spent the day of downtime in lazy, joyful, happy reunion, and they'd both done their very best to make sure that not even the smallest shred of reality intruded. Today, they weren't looking at the nightmare. It was the only way they were going to get through tonight. Still. He couldn't help but wonder if Rusty was ever going to tell Saul. If Saul was ever going to learn how close they'd – he'd – come to losing Rusty for good.

"Probably not," Rusty told him quietly and he winced. Fuck. Four years was a long time to go without someone living your every thought. He apologised with a look and Rusty dismissed it with a smile.

"Shouldn't you be heading downstairs?" Rusty asked him and he checked his watch again.

"Few more minutes," he decided easily and he wanted to spend as much time as possibly, wanted to experience as much of . . . as much of _this, _this feeling, the need, this wonderful, fragile thing, as he possibly could.

Rusty grinned at whatever he was seeing in Danny's eyes. "Watch you don't start waxing lyrical to Bruiser," he advised.

"Watch you don't start reciting a sonnet to Terry Benedict," Danny answered back quickly.

Rusty's grin got wider.

Danny sighed. "Seriously, don't wind Benedict up too much."

It took an effort not to be distracted by the pout.

"We want him irrational, not _irrational," _he pointed out. "He's not really the target here." At this stage he was just the mug with the money and the last thing they needed was Terry being complicated at them.

"You remember the part where he was seeing Tess?" Rusty reminded him gently.

Danny did. "Okay, be as annoying as you like," he agreed with a sigh. After all, no one could be as annoying as Rusty. "But seriously, no poetry unless - " '_You're trying to get a date_,' were the words in his head, the joke he would have thrown at Rusty before. " - You're trying to sell him 'The Paris Review'," he finished smoothly, no hesitation, no gap, no clue.

By the look on Rusty's face, by the shadow of wildness in Rusty's eyes, by the split second of _absence, _Rusty had heard what Danny hadn't said. And it had hurt.

He winced. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Rusty shook his head quickly. "Danny, we're going to fuck up. We're going to hurt each other. We're both too . . . "

. . . raw. Damaged. They were. He nodded. Except . . .

Rusty glared at him. "Oh, don't even think of saying _I _don't hurt _you. _Last night. When we went to bed."

He thought, much as he'd prefer not to, about the look in Rusty's eyes, the tremble in Rusty's voice, as he'd begged Danny not to leave him, as he'd promised that he'd be everything Danny would never want him to be, as he'd begged Danny to deign to accept him, to pretend as though Rusty's very presence didn't somehow disgust him. Yes. That had hurt him. That had been hell.

"We just got to decide - " Rusty went on slowly.

" - yes," Danny interrupted instantly. It was worth it. It was worth everything, _they _were worth everything and _Rusty _was worth so much more even than that."

Rusty smiled at him and relaxed. He reached towards his jacket pocket and Danny tensed. He shouldn't say anything. He shouldn't. If Rusty wanted to smoke, if it made him feel even a little bit better, then that was good, that was fine, and there were so many worse ways for him to be hurting himself. So Danny should just keep his mouth shut and let Rusty get on with it and put it to the very bottom of the list of issues that had to be dealt with.

"What?" Rusty frowned, looking at Danny, his hand hovering inches from his jacket pocket.

Danny bit his lip. "I wish you wouldn't," he admitted quietly. "I get that it helps and I know it isn't . . . but it's bad for you. We agreed when we quit, way back . . . "

He stopped.

Rusty had pulled a tootsie pop out of his jacket pocket. "Sorry," he said, apparently off Danny's look.

"You wanted," he began after a moment.

" - I wanted to see if you'd notice," Rusty admitted, the apology threaded through his voice.

"I noticed," Danny told him dryly. Of course he'd noticed. He'd noticed and he'd hated it every single time . . .and that was the point, wasn't it? It wasn't just about what Danny did or didn't see. He thought of times when he'd almost said something, done something, and he wondered if their life would have been better if he'd passed Rusty's test. "I cared," he added gently.

"I know that now," Rusty said quietly.

Danny sighed. "You couldn't have just asked me?" he complained lightly.

"You couldn't have just told me?" Rusty's voice was equally casual.

And he had. Of course he had. Eventually he'd told Rusty the truth.

"I probably wouldn't have believed you then either. Or wouldn't have wanted to," Rusty admitted.

He nodded slowly. "No more smoking?" he asked hopefully.

Rusty's hand brushed his briefly. "No more lots of things," he promised and they both knew that it was a sort of lie, that nothing was ever that easy but they could try and they had a chance, and that was all they'd ever asked for.

Rusty looked at his watch. "You'd better - "

Yeah. He nodded. He had better. He took one last look at Rusty and despite all his best intentions, he had to ask, had to be sure. "Rus', if you're not up to this - " he began, and he tried his hardest not to think about what he was saying. If Rusty wasn't up to this, they were walking off the job, abandoning the others, betraying their friends in a way that hurt to contemplate.

" - no, Danny," Rusty interrupted firmly. "We're doing this." Together.

He smiled lightly. "Think this counts as the stupidest thing we've ever done?" he asked, emphasising the plural, denying the separation.

Rusty grinned. "Honestly? I'd be happy if it made the top ten."

"Okay." He took a deep breath. He had to leave now. Had to. "See you in the vault," he said, heading for the door.

"I'll be the one wearing black," Rusty told him.

He laughed and managed to get the last word before the door closed. "Just try not to shoot me."

* * *

Everything seemed to be going according to plan. Livingston thought, anyway. Of course, he was having to keep an eye on twelve different things at once, more or less, and just because he was used to it, just because he thrived on it, just because these were the sort of moments that he felt most alive, didn't mean that he wasn't also terrified that he was going to somehow miss something crucial and let them all down.

Important things to be watching; Danny, being led towards the room in the back, Saul, standing in the security centre, Turk and Virgil wheeling Yen-in-a-box across the floor, Carson standing near the front entrance, smug and self confident, Rusty – not on any monitor, just sitting next to him - quiet and watchful and smiling.

And Linus, Frank and Terry Benedict and right now, right in this moment, that was the most important thing and he watched as Linus flinched away from Frank, watched as he hid behind Benedict, and he thought, maybe, perhaps, he'd seen the lift, but he wasn't sure if Linus had managed to plant the micro-camera.

"Did he get it?" he asked, without looking round.

"Think so," Rusty answered. "And it doesn't look like Benedict noticed anything. Try it."

Resisting the urge to cross his fingers, he reached over and pressed a couple of buttons. Immediately a new picture sprang into life. The view from Terry Benedict's waistcoat.

The relief made him giggle. "Terrycam is on-line."

Rusty grinned. "That's my cue," he said, pulling on a tie and nodding to where the twins were arguing in front of the door. "Give Basher the go."

There was a moment when he wanted to say "Be careful," or "good luck" or one of a thousand other reassuring things that he'd never have dreamt of saying to Rusty before. And he saw the way that Rusty smiled at him before he left and he knew he knew.

The door closed and his eyes drifted back to Carson, laughing into his phone. Bastard.

* * *

He'd done well so far. He knew he had. After all, he had the codes, he'd planted the camera, he'd managed to sneak back into the elevator, and above all, he hadn't collapsed into a quivering mess of nerves in the face of Terry Benedict.

All of this was good, and he told himself that the plan was working, right up to the point where he pushed the hatch on the roof of the elevator up and saw no Danny.

Oh, God. That was a problem. Linus bit his lip and worried. Where could Danny possibly be? Unless, maybe, oh God, what if it wasn't Bruiser that Benedict had called in? What if Benedict had some other guy that he used to beat up his guests? Some guy they didn't know about? What if, even now, Danny was being hit and hurt and no-one even knew? What if . . ?

There was a cough just behind his head and he spun round, too quickly, and he fell against the opposite wall and discovered that Danny had chosen to sit and grin on the other side of the shaft. Where he could be sure that Linus wouldn't immediately see him.

Oh. Oh, that was . . . "You're not funny," he frowned.

Danny grinned. "Yes, I am," he answered, pulling Linus up and out of the elevator.

"You ever think about acting your age?" he grumbled.

"Where's the fun in that?" Danny asked lightly and somehow, he couldn't stay angry.

* * *

Carson had seen him. He knew that Carson had seen him, just after he left Saul and the twins, when he was crossing the floor. Carson had seen him and watched and he'd almost felt the moment when Carson had stared and started wondering if the amusement he represented was worth jeopardising the rest of his scheme.

And honestly, he wasn't so very sure that he had any good contingency plans for if Carson had come after him then. Wasn't so sure that he could rely on his erratic ability to keep it together.

Carson had looked at him and all he'd wanted was to run, as fast as possible, run crying to Danny.

He bit his lip hard. Carson was nothing. Carson was _nothing_. And the way Carson looked at him, the way Carson made him feel, that was nothing, that was just something he had to deal with, had to deal with tonight and never again, and it really was nothing to worry about, nothing to make a fuss over. He leaned against the wall, tried to catch his breath, tried to ignore the ghosts of hands stroking at him, the memory of fingers that petted and teased and demanded and probed and expected and violated. Carson, stroking his chest and thigh, gleeful and gentle. Like Moffatt.

Like Moffatt, like that time in the shower and his hands were tied behind his back and someone's underwear was stuffed in his mouth, and he was choking and disgusted and disgusting, and he lay on the tiles, they were standing over him, and he could hear them laughing, could hear the grunting, the slap of flesh on flesh, and it was falling across his face, his hair, his body, and they were still laughing, and he wasn't crying, wasn't crying because he was nowhere, he was nothing, _nothing_, and then they were gone, and Moffatt was there, stroking his hair, caressing his cheek, "_Let's get you cleaned up," _and his legs were untied and he tried to fight, tried to run, and then he was lying face down on the tiles, Moffatt kneeling on the backs of his legs, the taste of blood and worse in his mouth, "_I could leave you here. I could leave you here for the guards to find. All pretty and tied up and naked and helpless and covered in other men's come. Is that what you want?"_and the change of emphasis, "Is _that what you want? I'm sure they'd know what to do with you. More people to play with you. More people to make use of you. Give you what you deserve. Should I leave you for them? You want to be someone else's toy for a while?" _and he shook his head quickly, because Moffatt would, Moffatt would because it would amuse him, and he wouldn't think of the consequences, and Rusty couldn't even imagine what lies he could tell that would hide the truth, and he didn't want anyone else to see him, and he didn't want anyone else to hurt him, to fuck him, and Moffatt smiled, _"I knew you liked me best. So you're going to let me take care of you, then? You're going to let me clean you up?" _and he didn't nod, couldn't quite take that step, but Moffatt had been eager anyway, and he let Moffatt lead him under the shower and he let Moffatt gently, thoroughly wash his hair, his body, hands running over his scalp, rubbing at his chest, lingering between his legs, taking possession of every inch of him with loving cruelty and carbolic soap, and the filth flaked off him and trickled down the drain, and with every caring touch he allowed, a little more, a little worse, got left behind.

With a quick effort, he wrenched his thumb hard across his thigh, and the pain caught him like a safety net and the hit of agony kept him focused and he was _here _and he wasn't lost. He was fine. He was completely fine.

And that didn't stop the guilt. Didn't stop the knowledge of exactly how pathetic he was, hurting himself because someone _looked_ at him.

Later he'd admit to Danny what he'd done. Later he'd face misery and fear and disappointment and later he'd apologise.

In the meantime, he had a job to do.

* * *

Danny couldn't help but notice that Linus looked nervous. Which, in the circumstances – both of them dangling over a lift shaft, supported only by a line thin enough to look like an optical illusion, knowing that there were men with guns at the bottom, in the process of committing a crime that was generally held to be impossible - might not seem completely unreasonable. But Danny knew Linus. This wasn't his I-think-you're-insane-and-you're-going-to-get-both-of-us-killed kind of nervous look. This was more his I-want-to-have-a-serious-conversation kind of nervous look.

And really, there was a time and a place for everything . . .

Still. He watched and waited and anticipated, welcoming anything that distracted him from the overpowering knowledge that Rusty had a plan to kill himself, and the screaming inside him at the fact that they weren't together, that Danny wasn't there, seeing, touching, knowing. He couldn't let himself think about that. Couldn't let himself feel that. Not even for a second. He had a job to do.

"So, I was thinking," Linus began finally, staring down the elevator shaft.

Danny waited for a moment but Linus showed no signs of continuing. "Yes?" he said, eventually and patiently.

"I was thinking about tomorrow," Linus went on. "After the job, I mean."

He sighed. "What have I told you about making plans in the middle of a job?" he chided.

"Not to," Linus answered promptly. "And I'm not, exactly. I just . . . look. I think I want to work on my own for a while."

Well. That was . . . he didn't know what that was. So many possible reasons, and for a moment he worried that it was because Linus was still hurt by the callousness he'd thought he'd seen (_had seen_) last night, that Linus might want as little to do with him as possible. And that was possible, much as he might wish it wasn't, but it was equally possible, since it was Linus, that he'd seen the way things were with Danny and Rusty and had decided to leave, to give them space.

"I mean, this was never permanent, right?" Linus added. "We both knew that I always wanted to make my own way. And I think that I'm ready. I really do."

Danny studied him carefully, and he certainly seemed to be telling the truth or at least part of it. "You're ready, kid," he said at last, truth shining in his voice, because honestly, the only thing that ever held Linus back was Linus. He knew all the basics, knew all the right people or at least where to find them, and most importantly he was about as far from being rash and careless as it was possible to get. And, sometimes Danny envied him that a little. Just sometimes. _They'd _always been impulsive. Always good at finding trouble. Too impulsive. Sometimes.

Linus stared at him wide-eyed. "You really think so?" he asked, as if Danny's opinion meant everything. "I mean, I thought so, and then I wasn't sure, and I was terrified of screwing up, and then Rusty said that everyone did sooner or later, and I should not worry about it and go for what I want."

Danny blinked. "Rusty said that? When?"

"While we were in LA," Linus said, with a shrug that set the line wobbling precariously across the elevator shaft. "Woah!"

"Don't do that," Danny advised absently. Huh. That had been long before Rusty had ever hoped that they'd be leaving town together. (_Probably when Rusty didn't even want them to leave town together._) Genuine career advice. He smiled. "You should listen to him," he said lightly. "Sometimes he talks sense."

Linus nodded. "I've seen how you two are," he blurted out. "And I know there's a lot of things going on that I don't understand. That you don't _want _me to understand. But I get that this is probably a good time for us to part company. For both of us."

Danny paused and smiled helplessly. "You think for a second that we don't want to work with you again? Often. If you think for a second that we – _I –_ don't want you to call whenever you need help, whenever you want to, then you're out of your mind."

He barely had time to register Linus smiling at him, the flush rising in his cheeks. Then the lights went out.

Now came the fun part.

* * *

The dark shouldn't have been a surprise. And it wasn't. The people shouting, rushing past him, pressing against him, touching him, that shouldn't have been a surprise. But it was.

He stood very still and waited for the lights to come back on, and Basher had said it shouldn't be that long. Seemed that long.

He got the sense of a tall man brushing past him and, irrationally, he wondered if it was Felding. He was somewhere in the world, after all. Hurting people somewhere. Holding them down and forcing them, his enormous hands pressing around their throats. Why not here? Why not him?

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on a memory. Danny. Danny, holding him close, holding him tight. _"I'm with you. I'm with you and I'm never going to leave" "I'm here. Always." "I _love_ you." _Danny. There was Danny and Felding was long ago and far away and Danny was near and always.

He smiled to himself and listened to the sounds of several hundred people doing what came naturally in a blacked-out casino and waited.

It was an age before the lights came back on.

* * *

Livingston watched with bated breath as Benedict scowled into the phone. He kind of wished he knew what Rusty was saying to him. Nothing complimentary, he was sure. Then the piece of paper was passed over and he glanced over to Terrycam eagerly. Please let this work, please let this work . . .the piece of paper drifted into view. Eighty-eight million, two hundred and seventy-four thousand three hundred and twenty-nine dollars. He swallowed awkwardly. Oh, boy.

Quickly he grabbed his phone and dialled. "Roman! We've got the number. Eighty-eight million, two hundred and seventy-four thousand three hundred and twenty-nine!"

"Really," Roman drawled slowly. "You know, that's nearly sixty million in real money."

He glanced at the vault. "Trust me, from where I'm sitting it looks pretty real. Are you set?"

"Done in half an hour," Roman promised. "And as far as anyone else will be able to tell, that money will be spread across five countries and eight bank accounts, all linking back to our unfriendly Federal agent." He paused. "You may now tell me I'm a genius."

"You're a genius," Livingston agreed fervently.

"Oh, please," Roman dismissed the compliment. "Flatterer."

"I need to go now, Roman," he said hastily, glancing back at the monitors. "I'll see you afterwards."

"God speed," Roman said dramatically and hung up.

Livingston bit his lip. They were stealing eighty-eight million, two hundred and seventy-four thousand three hundred and twenty-nine dollars. Oh, his palms were sweating.

* * *

There. The sensors were all round the door. Yen had the signal. All that was left to do was blow it. Danny smiled and reached into his pocket.

The remote wasn't there.

Frantically, futilely, he patted his pockets. Oh, this couldn't be happening. Not after everything. There was no way he could have done something so stupid. No way they could lose to something so small. Wide-eyed and anxious, he turned to tell Linus, to suggest they go back and search the bottom of the elevator shaft, and stopped.

Linus was grinning and holding the detonator between thumb and forefinger.

He took a deep breath and tried to decide whether he wanted to yell or laugh.

"What, you can dish it out but you can't take it?" Linus asked, and Danny would swear there was a giggle in his voice.

"When?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Just after you helped me out of the elevator," Linus explained.

Smooth. Very, very smooth. He'd never even noticed. Never even imagined. He grinned. "Oh, you're ready," he said, shaking his head. "Definitely ready."

* * *

Wondering exactly how long Terry would spend threatening thin air, Rusty ran into the warehouse. Looked like everyone else was changed and ready in the SWAT van. And Saul was glaring at him.

For a moment he wondered if, somehow, Saul knew about his little moment of weakness. About any of his weaknesses. But that was impossible. And more than that, the glare wasn't real. He'd been on the receiving end of enough to know that there was nothing behind this one.

"Robert," Saul began, "Perhaps this is a good time to talk about overacting?"

Middle of a job, a quick change desperately required, and Saul wanted to critique his performance? He played along. Of course. "Overacting?" he asked innocently, as he reached into the van and pulled his uniform out.

"'Breathe, damnit, breathe'?" Saul shook his head slowly, and his arm was hovering over Rusty's shoulder, and he was naturally guiding Rusty away from the van, as though he wanted the scolding to continue in private.

Rusty's eyes narrowed, trying to understand. "I just spent four years locked up with endless ER reruns. What, you think none of the overacting stuck?"

They walked away and he heard a spirited discussion of the merits of the show break out between Turk and Frank. _"It wasn't that bad!"_

"_Yeah? You ever see his Batman?" _

"What?" he asked Saul quietly.

Saul looked uncomfortable. "I thought you'd rather not . . . " he gestured at the bundle of clothing in Rusty's arms.

Oh. He'd been trying not to think about that. Trying really hard not to think about that. Trying not to remember how it felt to have to strip in prison, for the showers, for the guards, for . . . to know that everyone was looking. To know they were seeing scars and pain and vulnerability and weakness. And it wasn't like he'd be anywhere near naked this time, but the very idea had still hurt. He'd planned to throw out a distraction of his own, scramble into the uniform as quickly as possible and pray that no one noticed.

"Thank you," he said, voice over-brimming with quiet gratitude, for the thought, for the understanding, for the attention, for the fact that itmattered,that _he_ mattered. Almost too much to cope with.

Saul's hand rested briefly on his shoulder, and then Saul turned his head and he dressed as hurriedly as he could.

Livingston's voice rang out excitedly in all their ears. "Carson thinks he's cut our system! And he's following the van!"

Rusty grinned. Oh, it had been almost too easy to give Carson what he wanted to hear. They'd always known that he wouldn't be happy with half of half the money. He'd want to go after all of half the money. And he'd want to arrest them. Which left them free and with all of all the money. "Let's go," he suggested cheerfully.

* * *

Danny was smiling from the moment that Rusty stepped out the elevator shaft. Couldn't help it. And it had nothing to do with the eighty-eight million he was sitting on top of.

Rusty. Alive and in the world and with him.

Everything else could be worked on.

* * *

It was a single, simple moment and Danny watched Rusty freeze up. Watched him stare down at the guards, just starting to regain consciousness, and even beneath the uniform, even beneath the helmet, Danny could see him struggling to get control of his memories.

Casually, oh so very casually, because no one else could notice and no one else could know, not their friends and certainly not Benedict's people, he stepped forwards to take Rusty's place, to untie the guard, and he stepped just a little closer than he needed to, just a little closer than would be considered normal, and he let Rusty step into his path, let their shoulders brush, and he relaxed minutely in the second that Rusty turned to look at him. Later. There was going to be a later, and Rusty wanted to be with him, wanted to talk to him, wanted to live in his life.

Bending down he quickly freed the guards and listened to their groggy gratitude. Probably be lessened if they knew he was also the one who'd tied them up.

He wondered, savagely, what it meant for Rusty, to be tied up, to be helpless and vulnerable and unconscious.

He wondered if the pictures that screamed through his mind were close to the truth.

He wondered how many other triggers, how many other details, shards, echoes of agony there were lying in wait for them.

* * *

Livingston watched eagerly as eighty-eight million dollars and seven men in SWAT uniforms stepped out of the elevator. Right. Time to trigger the camera delay that he'd set up, oh, seemed like decades ago now.

"Rus'?" he spoke into the microphone. "Seven seconds."

He waited, staring at his computer, images ready, and precisely seven seconds later, Rusty flipped his helmet up and Livingston grinned, froze the image, and replaced Rusty's face with Carson's.

Eight seconds after that, Terry Benedict's head of security got an excellent picture of the man who robbed them.

* * *

Reuben leaned back in the car and laughed to himself as Benedict's people stared in bewilderment at the empty van in the airport parking lot. Oh, that was good. And it was about to get better.

"Here comes Carson," Virgil said cheerfully.

They watched with glee as Carson and his men surrounded the van and Benedict's men, and did their level best to confiscate several holdalls full of flyers for hookers.

Reuben shook his head. Oh, he should have brought popcorn.

* * *

Carson's people, with a wealth of hand signals and incomprehensible mutterings, slowly converged on the warehouse and a number of rooms in the Bellagio.

Doors were kicked in, rooms were searched, paced out, and there was nothing and no one.

From what they'd been assured was the nerve-centre of a major criminal operation, the team leader shrugged and made a phone call. "Carson? Yeah, it's Agent Johnson . . . there's no one here. No sign that anyone's been here. . . . Look, I'm standing in the middle of the room and the only thing strange here is a cocktail."

He leaned forwards and pulled the cocktail umbrella out of the drink resting conspicuously on the table in the middle of the room. "Looks like a Shirley Temple."

From his new room, four floors below, Livingston watched and listened and giggled.

* * *

Reuben laughed out loud as Carson stood in front of the van and spluttered incoherently into his phone. Not the way he would have done it. His way would have involved more blood. But this would do for the moment.

"Here comes the really good bit," he told Virgil, and the second team of FBI agents suddenly burst into the parking lot and started arresting Carson's people.

"Go, Bobby!" Virgil cheered and Reuben took a puff of his cigar. He was going to treasure the memory of the expression on Carson's face for a very long time.

The back of the SWAT van was alive with silent excitement.

Rusty took a deep breath. "So far, so good."


	32. Chapter 31

**This fic is definitely coming towards some kind of conclusion. **

* * *

Danny traipsed into the suite at the Luxor about five minutes before Rusty had decided he could legitimately start worrying, ten minutes before he'd decided he'd start worrying out loud, ten minutes _after_ he'd _actually _started worrying, and about twenty minutes before Danny was actually late.

From the moment Danny stepped through the door, he was scanning the room, searching anxiously and surreptitiously, and it wasn't like Rusty didn't understand what he was looking for. There was a split second of relief and reassurance before they were both overwhelmed by the together and found themselves lost in each other's eyes and smile.

"Benedict give you any trouble?" Rusty asked lightly, bringing them back to reality, probably a matter of seconds before someone noticed. Or, judging by the awkward conversation that Saul and Linus had embarked on, a couple of seconds _after_. Livingston and Roman luckily seemed too wrapped up in their own conversation to have noticed anything. He'd heard the words 'carbon nanotubes' and 'cold boot attack' and, rather worryingly, 'invisible numbers'. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Danny was still smiling. "Well, I don't think he likes me very much."

He nodded. "Think it's the outfit," he commented.

"Really?" Danny looked down at himself. "You think?"

Rusty pursed his lips. "As a child he was frightened by - "

" - James Bond?" Danny suggested.

"Nah." He shook his head happily. "A snooty waiter."

"Oh." Danny frowned. "Well, I didn't dress to traumatise him."

"Right," Rusty agreed. "That's - "

" - your job," Danny nodded seriously.

Rusty grinned and shook his head. "Anything to worry about?"

"Nah, he's good," Danny assured him. "Confused and furious."

"Good," Rusty said with genuine relief. Benedict being furious was only to be expected. Benedict being confused was to be hoped for. It was furious and _not _confused that would have been a serious problem.

"How about with you?" Danny asked. "Anything I should know about?" His voice was light and the question in his voice was all about the job. His eyes were asking something different altogether.

He shrugged and kept his voice just as casual. "Nothing important. Bobby told Reuben and Virgil to clear out. Apparently the local guys were getting twitchy. They're helping the others get rid of the loose ends." He looked Danny in the eyes while he was talking, trying to reassure, to promise that he was fine, but that wasn't quite the question that Danny was asking, and he found himself thinking about Carson looking at him, and about the panic and the terror and the memories and sensations that had overwhelmed him, and there was a twinge of guilt and a pain in his thigh, and Danny's eyes narrowed and Rusty sighed internally in the face of the unbounded, the unstoppable, the sea of worry and concern and fear and _love,_ and he wasn't used to it; it had been so long since he could even imagine, remember, this feeling.

_Later,_ he promised Danny silently. They'd have time to talk later. He'd confess later. And Danny would be there for him.

Unsatisfied but resigned to pragmatism for the moment, Danny turned to Linus and Saul with a grin. "Well? We ready?" he asked, as if they were the ones who'd been holding them up.

"Roman?" Rusty said hastily, before Saul's glare turned into anything more. "What have you got for us?"

Roman stepped forwards with a smug smile and presented him and Danny with a disc each. "These are what you wanted. Try not to break them."

Rusty studied the disc carefully. "It'll install - "

With an impatient sigh, Roman rolled his eyes. " - It will delete the files you don't want, install the files you _do _want and then make it look like someone who isn't, well, as brilliant as _me, _tried to delete them. It's a work of _art_ Rusty. Honestly, with this program, I could topple governments."

"We'll bear that in mind," Danny nodded gravely.

Roman ignored him. "It's more than capable of dealing with _your _little problem."

Rusty reminded himself that being dismissive and superior was just Roman's way. That he didn't mean anything by it. That he'd be shocked and horrified if he even imagined that Rusty could be hurt by it. Most of all, he reminded himself that Roman was talking about the problem of framing Carson. Not any other problem. Not any of _his _other problems.

He forced a smile. "Thanks, Roman. Reuben's got your money."

"Good," Roman said happily.

Danny's eyes were dark when they split up, and Rusty could see the fear and the absolute and desperate reluctance to separate even for a second.

_Later_, he promised again. There'd be a forever of later.

* * *

Linus peered over the edge of the building to the street below – the street far, far below – and licked his lips. He tugged on the zip-line above his head and looked unhappily over to the FBI building on the other side of the street. Then he turned to Rusty. "You know, this is the second time today I've been looking over a long drop, preparing to jump. Or fall. And I can't help but notice it's been your idea both times."

Rusty grinned and stood on the very edge of the building and rocked back alarmingly on the balls of his feet. "You scared?"

"You suicidal?" Linus shot back immediately.

Just for a second, he'd swear that there was something on Rusty's face. Some shadow, some hint of absolute, unthinkable misery. And then it was gone and the grin was there as if it had never left. "Only in the mornings," Rusty told him and jumped off the building.

Instinctively and stupidly, Linus closed his eyes before, rather more usefully, squinting out towards the FBI building, and he was just in time to see the moment when Rusty landed against the wall. Okay. His turn.

Taking a deep breath, holding on as tight as he could, he stepped off the edge of the building and then his ears were filled with the scream of the zip-line and the roaring of the wind as he sped – fell – across the street.

Logically, he knew it only took a few seconds but it seemed longer. Seemed to take forever; certainly he had time to remind himself over and over that screaming or being sick would be bound to attract the attention of the people below. And then the building was coming closer and closer, looming bigger and bigger, and he closed his eyes a second before he crashed into the wall, and his feet scrabbled frantically until they were safely on the ledge.

He stayed there for a long moment, breathing heavily, and when he opened his eyes Rusty already had the window open and was looking at Linus with an expression that had a touch of sympathy and a lot of amusement. "You know, a lot of people would pay good money for a ride like that."

"I hate you," Linus told him with feeling.

* * *

Saul followed Danny into the service elevator and hit the button for the nineteenth floor. Carson's floor and Saul felt a wave of anger at the very thought of that bastard. He couldn't imagine how Danny was feeling. But then, he couldn't imagine how Danny was feeling about a lot of things.

What did Danny know? That was the question. He didn't know what Rusty had told Danny, or what he was planning on telling Danny. Didn't know if Danny knew about the man in the showers, or that Rusty had been attacked. Hurt. Violated. He took a deep breath and managed to quell the feelings of misery and outrage and fury.

Probably Danny knew. Even if maybe he didn't know the details, probably Danny knew. But they hadn't been talking for so long. Hadn't been _them _for so long. It was possible he really didn't know. And if he _didn't _the question became _should _he know?

The knowledge would crush Danny; he knew that. As unbearable as the truth was to Saul, it would be a thousand times more painful for Danny. But he'd want to know. And Rusty wouldn't want him to know. But ultimately, Danny would be the one to help Rusty, the only one who could, and surely that meant he needed to know everything. But did Saul have an obligation to tell him?

He sighed, and Danny looked at him sharply. "What?"

"This uniform is not comfortable," he said immediately and gloomily. The SWAT uniform had been better. He supposed that the police put more thought into these things than hotels.

Danny didn't look convinced and Saul was relieved when the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

He'd need to talk to Rusty.

* * *

Bobby stared at the local man – Agent Browning, if he remembered rightly – in consternation and growing horror. "_What did you just say_?" he demanded and then, as the man stammered through explanation and excuse, incredulity gave way to anxiety and anger and he swore loudly. "Never mind that," he ordered. "_When_ did you lose him?"

* * *

Ever more desperately, Rusty searched through the piles of papers and files in Carson's office. It had to be here. It just had to be. They'd already found the photos of the others Carson had shown Linus and Danny, and the photos of him and Danny Carson had shown Tess – which, fortunately, he'd managed to conceal from Linus. He'd found files on each of the others and added them to the pile for them to take away and destroy, and he'd carefully replaced them all with more files on Benedict and plans of the casinos and the vault, but _his _file was nowhere to be found. His file. His prison file. His file with the photos. The photos of him . . . he sank his teeth into his lip. He _had _to find them.

"Uh, Rusty?" Linus was looking at him. "Roman's gizmo is finished with the computer. And I found a couple of fake passports and some bank account details taped under the desk."

"Leave them," Rusty told him, pawing through the files again. It had to be there. "Can only help us." Wasn't like Carson wasn't already corrupt before they started framing him.

"So we should leave now, right?" Linus asked nervously. "I mean, we're done. We've got everything."

"We've missed something," Rusty admitted tightly.

Linus started looking. "What? I mean, what am I looking for?"

Rusty caught his breath and couldn't answer. But he had to find it.

* * *

In Carson's hotel room, the laptop was whirring away quite happily as the program Roman wrote quietly went about its business, deleting any reference to them and installing files that would prove that Carson had planned, organised and carried out the robbery on Benedict. They were nearly done, he'd finished with the laptop and Saul was just checking through the files Carson had left on the table. Pretty soon they'd all be gathered at Reuben's for drinks and celebration, and then he and Rusty could make their excuses and find a way of getting on with the rest of their lives.

Danny smiled and, looking round the room again, caught sight of another file on the nightstand by Carson's bed. A thick file. A thick file with Rusty's name on it.

Frowning, he turned it to the first page and a series of photographs fell out and immediately the world was gone, immediately his soul was screaming and he was drowning in a sea of unthinking fury and unthinkable pain.

* * *

**Author says SNAFU**


	33. Chapter 32

**First of all, think there was a bit of confusion last chapter – Danny was the one who found the file with the photos of Rusty. Not Saul. Sorry about that.**

**Secondly, InSilva has very kindly written a summary of the story so far! **

_**Tess: "Rusty, I've found out Danny's a thief and I'm leaving him but I'll take him back if he doesn't go to jail. Oh, btw, I might be pregnant."**_

_**Rusty: "Don't worry, Tess, I'll take the fall, you look after him and enjoy your little rugrat. I'm off to make a deal with the devil and spend four years in hell."**_

_**Danny: "Don't I get a say in things?"**_

_**TessandRusty: "No!"**_

_**Carson: "Mwahaha!"**_

_**Felding (quietly): *grunt* **_

_**Moffat(t): *busy enjoying himself***_

_**Frank: "Now you're out, can you come and help us? We're stuck." (Linus: "Stalled") "Stuck."**_

_**Danny: "I haven't forgiven you and we're no longer DannyandRusty."**_

_**Rusty: "There's no reason why you would want to know me let alone know me."**_

_**Carson: "Mwahaha!"**_

_**Danny: "In spite of everything, I can't deny how I feel."**_

_**Rusty: "I don't believe you and I am secretly seeking solace in citrus fruit implements." **_

_**Carson: "Mwahaha!"**_

_**FFH: *grunt* *enjoys itself***_

_**Rusty: "In spite of everything, I find I can't deny how you feel."**_

_**Danny: "No shit."**_

_**Saul: "Thank God!"**_

_**DannyandRusty: "Up yours, Carson!"**_

_**Carson: "Mwaha- wait a minute..."**_

_**Danny: "Hurrah." Picks up file with photos. "Wait a minute..."**_

**Now read on . . . **

* * *

The file slipped from his hand onto the bed, pages and photos strewn across the comforter.

Danny was lost.

There were pictures and there were words.

Pictures – photos – and words turning horror and abstract and speculation into unbearable concrete reality.

There were _photos_ and it was an unwanted magic that pulled him into the scene. That forced him to experience the sights, sounds, smells, knowledge of the scene. That forced him to live it and not be able to do a thing to change it.

Rusty lying on a narrow hospital bed. Unconscious. Naked. Laid bare. Exposed and vulnerable and beyond help, beyond comfort, beyond _anything_ Danny had to offer. And Danny could see the tension twisted through every inch of his body. The horror, the agony, the self-disgust and none of it had ever faded.

He could see, picture, imagine, the doctor, nurses, the orderly with the camera, milling round the bed, examining, recording, photographing. Just another day at the office and four years distance be damned, he wanted to scream at them to help, that this was Rusty, and that it _mattered_.

More pictures. The photographer leaned in close to see the damage.

Rusty's face. Blood and bruises. Pain inflicted to enforce submission. Livid fingers of bruising around Rusty's throat. A trail of scarlet from Rusty's mouth. Dark bruises littering Rusty's chest. The shadow of cracked ribs.

(_"I fought . . .I always fought," Rusty's voice told him and the fight was short, brutal and unwinnable. Kicks and punches that went on too long, and still Rusty wouldn't give up and thick fingers wove their way round Rusty's throat, squeezing and choking, and all Danny could do was watch and it was killing him.)_

Rusty's shoulder. A close up photo. The deep, uneven, bloodied punctures, and Danny stared and stared until they formed themselves into the shape of a human mouth.

(_Rusty bent over a table. The shadowed-man behind him, on top of him, heavy and powerful, grinding and grunting, leaning forwards and suddenly his teeth were biting into Rusty's shoulder, tearing and ripping and the blood flowed down over Rusty's skin, and Danny could see the look in Rusty's eyes, the look in his eyes . . .)_

Latex-gloved hands spread Rusty's legs wide. The photographer got in closer still, straining for the best-possible view, concentrating on the finger-shaped marks on Rusty's hip. _(The shadowed-man held Rusty down, pulled him back onto himself, thrusting and exuberant and Rusty couldn't fight him off.) _The streams of blood and worse coating Rusty's thighs. (_the shadowed-man sped up a little and his fingers dug into Rusty's hips just that little bit harder, and with a shout and a sigh he was spent, spent and not finished.) _Latex fingers and metal instruments poked, probed, pointed. Flesh was spread, moved aside so that the photographer could get a proper look at the site of trauma and violation. (_Rusty on his back, his legs forced wide, struggling and squirming and helpless and frightened and fighting, and the shadowed-man was implacable and unstoppable, and Rusty was screaming silently and the not-noise echoed around Danny's head and through Danny's soul, and Rusty was crying his name, desperate and begging, pleading, promising anything if Danny would just be there for him, and the shadowed man pulled Rusty's legs up into the air and thrust deep and erratic and Rusty moaned aloud, a noise of pain and loss, and four-years-ago-Danny turned his back, his eyes cold - "We're through, you and me. We're done. I don't care about you. I don't _love_ you." - and Danny bit hard into his lip to suppress the scream.) _

He forced himself to look away from the photos. He could still see them. Feel them. Live them. He wasn't sure that he'd ever stop. _Rusty . . . _

Therewere words. Distant and clinical and uncaring. Words laying out the barest of pictures, the glimpse, the flash of a life he couldn't stand.

Even the front page was screaming at him. Rusty's name and birth date. Height, weight, hair and eye colour. Distinguishing marks. All written out as if they meant something. As if this was all Rusty amounted to. And the case history. Times and dates. Whens and whats. Nineteen brief descriptions. The first, minor injuries. Bruises to Rusty's face. A note to the effect that fighting was suspected. Another note that the prisoner denied further injury. Danny wondered. Then, sixteen incidents marked 'Suspected sexual assault' Lists of injuries. The words 'trauma' and 'tearing', 'massive', 'numerous', 'multiple' and 'compound' swam before his eyes, jumbled up into a vast, screaming truth. Two times that he read about transfers to hospital. Emergency surgery. So many hours in theatre. Critical condition. Three years ago this had been Rusty's life. Sixteen brutal assaults and how many had been going on that he hadn't been taken to the infirmary for? He could see – couldn't stop seeing – Rusty living from pain to pain, moment to moment, violation to violation, and Danny _hadn't been there. _Had chosen not to be there.

There was nothing for a year. No more sexual assaults and he might have taken comfort in that if the sound of Rusty's voice when he admitted that he was raped his last day inside wasn't playing over and over in his head. Just two other entries mentioned - a note of an illness. Four days in the infirmary, a mention of delirium and violent hallucinations. And that was frightening. But the last – the very last thing on the page – was worse. 01/24/01. Six months ago. Only two words. 'Self inflicted'.

There were no more details. Not on that page; there were pages of medical notes that would unquestionably tell him everything, but he couldn't make his hand move the paper to see.

The barest descriptions were all he had. And he couldn't cope with them, and the pictures twisted and played through his head, over and over pain beyond belief, pain beyond reason.

Rusty had – _was –_ living every second. Rusty knew, felt, saw the excruciating details. The whats and the hows and the whens and the wheres and the how much and the how often and the how hard and it didn't stopped, it never ever stopped. And the whos. The whos . . .

There was a sheet of paper fastened to the inside of the file. Different paper. Newer paper. Paper not stamped with the prison logo. A handwritten list of names. A list of names in _Carson's_ handwriting.

Barrow, Scott; Cox, John; Felding, Hugh; Gable, Duncan; Kowalski, Tomas; Macloud, Michael; Mulligan, James; Turner, Patrick; Winchester, David.

He stared for a long second, then he unclipped the list, carefully folded it and put it in his pocket.

"Danny?" Saul's voice was impatient. Worried. As if he'd been calling for a long time. Danny watched blankly as Saul walked over. "What are you . . . " Saul froze, staring down at the bed, the photos, his face twisted with grief and horror. He watched Saul trapped in an unbearable cloud of emotion, and some small, distant part of him remembered how it felt.

The strange thing was, he wasn't angry anymore. He didn't feel _anything_ anymore. He'd been angry for a long time, such a long, long time, and last night, talking to Rusty, hearing what Rusty had been saying, thinking, last night there'd been rage and grief and pain and outrage. But all that had gone now. All that had faded away. He was beyond it, in a world that was nothing but inevitabilities.

They were dead. All of them. Didn't matter that, for the moment, they were walking around the world with every appearance of life, thinking they were untouchable. The reality, the stone-cold-truth, was that they were dead. They had laid their hands on Rusty – _his_ Rusty – and had used and hurt and broken, over and over and over and over and . . . the pictures ran through his mind again and he forced his eyes open. They were dead. They were all dead.

Of course it might take him a while to find them. A list of names wasn't very much to go on. But right now, there was another man, a closer man. A man who had known about everything and had used it to his own advantage. A man who had seen everything that Danny had seen and had thought it was amusing. Bedtime reading. A man, he suddenly knew for certain, who had forced Rusty to look at the photos, to relive his own degradation. A man who had pushed Rusty to the point where dying was better than living and hurting himself was the only option. A man who inflicted pain with a smile, and Danny knew exactly what he was going to do.

Saul took a faltering step forwards and Danny spared him a curious look. He looked so much smaller than Danny had ever seen him. Diminished and broken in the face of the unthinkable. Nothing to be done. Not like he had any comfort to offer. The best he could do was pat Saul gently on the arm as he walked past, heading for the door.

* * *

Linus watched Rusty search through the office again and tried to pull himself together enough to say something. By this point it seemed a pretty safe bet that whatever Rusty was looking for it wasn't there. They really needed to get out of here. Quickly. Dad could only provide so much of a reasonable delay before the bureau moved in to find all the evidence they'd planted, and if he and Rusty were still _here . . . _well. Some things were a little difficult to explain.

He'd tried suggesting that whatever Rusty was looking for if, by some insane chance, it actually was lying somehow undiscovered in this office, Rusty could just tell Dad what it was and Dad would be able to deal with it. And the look on Rusty's face when he'd said that . . .Linus had found himself frantically searching for himself. And _that _was only hampered by the fact that he really had no idea what he was looking for. And the fact that Rusty didn't want _him _to find it either.

He couldn't help but wonder what it was. Of course he was going to be curious. What in the world could Carson be holding over Rusty's head that was enough to provoke such an irrational response? His first thought had been faked photos. Same as the rest of them. Evidence of crimes that Rusty hadn't committed that would be enough to send him back to prison. And that almost fitted. Almost. Linus could see how the prospect of going back to prison would be enough to spark the desperation and the anxiety. But if that was what it was, Rusty surely wouldn't have any objection to Linus or Bobby knowing. There wouldn't be any reason for the pain at the thought of his friends finding out. No, this was something else. Something awful. Linus' lips set into a thin line; as if Carson hadn't done enough.

"Rusty?" he began and his voice was timid. He cleared his throat. "Rusty!" he said again, more forcefully.

Rusty didn't look up from the filing cabinet he was pawing through. "Yeah?"

"Rusty, we really need to get out of here," he said insistently.

After a couple of seconds, Rusty closed the filing cabinet and turned round. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice a little unsteady. "Yeah, you're right."

"Maybe Saul and Danny will have found it," he suggested, and he hadn't _meant_ to put his foot in his mouth so absolutely. He'd meant it to be comforting. He'd just assumed – from watching them, from seeing what their relationships were – that Danny or Saul finding it would be better. But just for a moment he saw terror in Rusty's eyes.

Then Rusty turned away again. "Maybe," he said dismissively. "Okay, is everything back the way it should be?"

Linus started to look round.

Then he heard the door click open, heard a voice say "Freeze!" and he was afraid.

* * *

Bobby threw orders around frantically and, watching his people scurry out of the mobile command centre, trusted they'd be obeyed. Too many different people. Too many different groups vying for control, fighting to take the credit and the glory, and he really needed to impress on them that he was absolutely the man in charge. His team, the local bureau people, a couple of suits from the Office of Professional Responsibility, two other flavours of local law enforcement, and a few guys who weren't actually part of the FBI – or indeed anything legal – but who he'd brought along to handle any complication. He'd trusted that the confusion and the way that no-one knew everyone would be enough to hide them. And instead it had ended up hiding Carson. The bastard had managed to half-persuade some local moron that there was a serious case of mistaken identity. That Carson was with Bobby's team. Only half-convince, but it had been enough for the moron to drop his guard, to go check it out. Enough for Carson to make his escape.

Bobby was giving very serious thought to shooting the moron.

Carson couldn't possibly get far, that was the only consolation. Bobby had everyone – _everyone, _right down to the fucking crossing guards – out looking for him. Everyone on full alert. Everyone entirely aware that if they screwed this up they'd be out of a job so fast they wouldn't even have time to open the door on their way out.

Now all he had to do was make some phone calls. Warn the guys.

And worry. He had to worry.

* * *

Rusty had never really been the type to throw his energies into denying the impossible. Bemoaning his fate. Cursing his luck. If something was happening it was happening and there was absolutely no point in standing there acting surprised and saying it couldn't be happening, crying that it wasn't _fair._ Carson was standing in front of him, pointing a gun at him and Linus, armed and free and threatening, and shock and misery just weren't options here. Clearly something had gone desperately wrong. And all that was left was to ensure the fallout touched as few people as possible.

"Robert, Robert, Robert," Carson sighed and there was a new edge to his voice. Frustration and controlled panic and a lot of anger. Apparently Carson didn't like his plans falling in around his ears. And Rusty suspected that could be extremely dangerous. "You know, this is the second time I've caught you breaking into my office. At this point I think we might have to acknowledge that you're just not terribly _good _at your chosen profession, don't you think?"

Rusty smiled and leaned back against the desk and did his best to ignore the gun. "Mmm. Interesting point, Harry. I suppose the equivalent would be to be an FBI agent who never quite manages to arrest the right person."

Carson nodded. "You set me up, Robert. I misjudged you, I have to admit that. I gave you too much credit. I didn't think that Danny had you quite so _broken._ I thought that maybe, somewhere in that whimpering, whining, frightened, down-trodden mess you call a mind there was enough . . . well, maybe not _intelligence, _I think that might be expecting a little too much; but perhaps even a spark of self-preservation instinct? Or would you really rather go back to prison than have to face up to Danny's disappointment?"

He could remember the sound of disappointment in Danny's voice. Could remember it with agonising clarity. The thing was; it hadn't happened. It hadn't _ever_ happened. He'd told Danny so much, and Danny had seen so much more, and last night Danny had held him in his arms and promised him a future. He smiled unconcernedly at Carson and watched the man's eyes narrow in confusion, questioning everything he'd seen.

"Think you're the one who's going to be arrested," Linus muttered.

Carson looked at him, gun still pointing between them, ready to shoot either of them the moment they moved. _Probably _if they both rushed him then he wouldn't be able to get them both. As comforting thoughts went, that was unbelievably weak. "Oh, I have no intention of being arrested," Carson assured Linus earnestly. "None at all. In fact, reach under that desk, will you? And pass me what's taped there?"

Woodenly, Linus handed over the fake passports and bank account details that he'd unearthed and replaced earlier.

"Ah." Carson stuffed them into a pocket with his free hand. "You know that was my original intention in coming here. I thought it was game over. Thought I was going to need to retire dishonourably and disappear with as much as I could get away with. But now that the two of you have been so obliging . . . well. I wonder." He stopped, and Rusty could see the wheels turning. "First of all, perhaps you'd be so good as to remove whatever you've planted?"

Rusty glanced at Linus and nodded and they started to gather up the fake files. There was little else they could do. And they certainly weren't going to mention the information Roman's program had installed on the computer.

The sound of Linus' phone ringing quietly broke the silence.

"Turn it off," Carson ordered shortly. "You too, Robert," he added.

They obeyed. Probably it was just someone calling to let them know there'd been a serious fuck-up, and really, they already had that information.

"Yes," Carson said suddenly. "I think that the two of you should help keep me out of prison. With a little effort on all our parts. A little understanding. What do you think, Robert? After all, you went to so much effort to keep our Danny out of prison. Are you willing to do the same for me?"

"No," Rusty said simply.

Carson was looking at Linus. "Did you _know_ about that?" he asked. "Do you know how Danny normally treats his partners? Do you know how he used Robert here? That he made Robert go to prison for him and then ignored him – forgot about him – for four, long years? Until he needed him again, that is. Then he was _more _than happy to use him again, and even . . . " Carson smiled in sudden revelation. "Even send him off to see _me_, isn't that right Robert?" There was a brief pause. "Isn't that right?" Carson repeated deliberately, and Rusty realised that it hadn't been a rhetorical question.

"If you say so, Harry," he acquiesced lazily.

Again, Carson ignored him. "You know, Linus. It's funny to see you and Rusty together. Strange. And amusing. The lapdog and the replacement. Tell me, is Danny your world like he is Robert's? Would you do _anything_ he asked of you? Would you drop to your knees and kiss his . . . " He smiled with delighted significance. "..._feet _if he asked you to?"

"Shut up," Linus said levelly, and Rusty could hear the horrified emotion underneath.

"Oh?" Carson smiled with beautific innocence. "Did I touch a nerve? Are you feeling jealous by any chance, Linus?" The flicker of reaction was lightning quick and probably, in the normal course of events, no-one would have noticed it. But neither Rusty nor Carson lived in the normal course of events. "After all," Carson went on, his smile showing his teeth. "Danny didn't expect you to solve it, did he? He called on Robert. Your own partner discarded you like an abandoned toy. For _this," _he added disdainfully, raking Rusty with his eyes, his mouth twisted with a calculated disgust that Rusty felt with every fibre of his being, and he found he couldn't quite meet Carson's gaze, found himself staring at the floor so that Moffatt . . . no. So that _Carson_ couldn't see his eyes. He had to remember where he was. He had to stay in the present.

Carson laughed, short and triumphant. "Tell me, what would you say if I offered you immunity from prosecution in exchange for you providing statements against Danny and the others? And I could," he added persuasively. "Believe me, I could. Linus?"

"No," Linus snapped instantly.

"Really?" Carson pursed his lips. "That's a shame. Prison is not a nice place. Terrible things can happen to a man behind bars, you know. How about you, Robert? You desperate to go back? Or will you do the sensible thing for once?"

Rusty grinned. "Not a chance," he said and wild exhilaration ran through him. He hadn't hesitated. Even though he was terrified. Even though, from the moment that he'd seen Carson standing there, a little part of his mind had been absolutely certain that he was going back to prison and was _screaming. _Even though he could already feel demanding hands grasping at his body. Even though he knew what was coming. Still he hadn't even considered for a moment that it was even possible for him to betray his friends like that. Because it _wasn't. _Maybe he hadn't fallen quite as far as he thought.

"Pathetic," Carson muttered, shaking his head, and for once Rusty disagreed. "I wonder though," Carson went on thoughtfully. "Do you think that Danny would make the ultimate sacrifice? Do you think that Danny would go to the police and make his confession in exchange for your freedom?"

Yes. He would.

" . . .no," he whispered after a long second, his voice shamed and shaking.

"I'm sorry?" Carson said politely. "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that. What did you say, Robert?"

"No," he repeated louder, looking up, meeting Carson's eyes with anger and pain and defiance.

"No _what_, Robert?" Carson asked, sounding puzzled.

He swallowed hard. "No, Danny wouldn't go to prison for us."

Carson sighed mockingly. "Yes. That's what I figured. And why is that, Robert?"

He hesitated. Could feel Linus looking at him. Wasn't going to even glance at the kid, and not just because he wanted to keep Carson's attention focused on him.

"Come on, Robert," Carson went on patiently. "We practised this one last night."

Oh. Right. "Danny doesn't care about me," he said robotically, obediently.

"Very good," Carson approved. He smiled over at Linus. "Really, he's quite easy to train with the right incentive. As many men have no doubt found." The smile vanished. "So. I can't make you confess, and I can't use you to force your friends to confess. Which means it's going to have to be plan . . .D? E?" He frowned. "No matter. Evidence can be faked both ways, you know. And given time, whatever you've done can be untangled. And in the meantime I've got the two of you to make sure your friends don't interfere. And at the end I'll have the pair of you, guilty as hell and the real criminals. Think I'm looking at a commendation, never mind an apology."

It could happen. It really could.

"Now," Carson smiled. "The three of us are going to go down to the parking lot now, and then we'll be leaving."

"We're going through the building?" Linus asked quickly.

"That's right," Carson nodded. "And if you're thinking that means that you'll be able to attract someone's attention, maybe get some help, you might want to consider that even though they'd arrest _me_, they'd certainly arrest you as well. And you'd be going to prison. And like I said, Linus. Terrible things can happen to a man behind bars. Just ask Robert."

He tensed suddenly and wished he hadn't.

"Just ask Robert how it feels." And Carson's eyes were fixed on Rusty's face, and the smile was tight and cruel. "Well, Robert? How does it feel the first time someone asks you to bend over, spread your legs, and grab your ankles? How does it feel the first time your jaw is forced open, the first time someone slides their dick into your mouth? How does it feel when his hands are twisted in your hair as he jerks your head back and forwards? How does it feel when - "

"Shut up!" Linus burst out, wild and furious and hate-filled.

"Of course," Carson nodded, smiling. "I'll stop talking about it, if you like. But that doesn't mean it didn't happen." He paused. "Unless you can honestly tell me that you think I'm lying? That you think it's not going to happen to you?"

Linus was quiet and incoherent and raging.

"Let's get going," Carson said, showing all his teeth. "Please. After you."

* * *

Danny's phone was ringing. He didn't notice. Or care.

He walked into a forest of police and FBI agents, thinking of nothing, whistling happily all the while.

* * *

Saul hadn't managed a coherent thought in some time. Hadn't managed to move in some time. Hadn't managed anything but to sink helplessly to his knees beside the bed and he couldn't _think_.

This was . . . this was . . . this was _wrong._ This was obscene and awful and somewhere, somehow, he was screaming, and this was _wrong._ This had happened to Rusty and Rusty had looked him in the eye and lied about it, and the lie had been horrifying and unbearable, and Saul had been thrown into a place of pain and helpless anger at the _lie_ and the truth was four years of agony and torture and Saul didn't know how to make it right, didn't know where to begin, and he needed to stand up, needed to finish the job and go and find Rusty and go and find Danny, but he couldn't move, and he couldn't think, and he couldn't look away from barbarism and brutality and foulness and filth that should never have been allowed to touch Rusty. Not even for an instant.

The tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Presently, eventually, he became aware his phone was ringing.

He answered. "Hello?" he said gruffly, and his voice almost sounded normal.

"Saul?" Bobby said after a second, cautiously, and obviously _almost_ normal wasn't quite enough.

"Yes," he agreed, and sticking to monosyllables as much as possible was probably the only way through this.

"You alone?" Bobby went on.

"Yeah," he said again.

"We've got trouble," Bobby told him intently.

He looked at the photographs in front of him. Wondered if any trouble could ever seem remotely comparable. "What?" he managed.

"Carson's escaped," Bobby said bluntly and there was an apology in his voice at least. "We're looking for him now, we're going to find him . . . but I tried calling Linus before I called you." The worry was obvious and well-hidden. "And Rusty. And Danny. None of them answered their phones."

"Danny was with me," Saul told him, trying to concentrate. "He left."

"Where was he going?" Bobby demanded.

"I . . . I don't know," he admitted.

There was a pause. "Everything all right?" Bobby asked after a second. "What's happening."

"Everything's fine here," Saul assured him, a little too quickly. "I'll get over there as soon as possible."

"Thanks," Bobby said absently, already far away and worrying.

Saul hung up. He took a deep breath, got unsteadily to his feet, and started gathering together the picture and papers on the bed. This needed to be destroyed as soon as possible. Every photo he touched made his skin crawl.

* * *

Bobby stared at the phone for a long moment, wondering. Saul had sounded . . . off. Definitely off. In all the time they'd known each other, Bobby had never heard Saul sound so . . . old. So out of it. Everything was going to hell.

"Hi, Bobby." The voice from behind him sounded upbeat, joyful and very, very wrong. He turned slowly to see Danny standing in the doorway, wearing a cheerful smile. "I need to have a quick word with Carson."

* * *

**I _think _that there's only another two chapters to go. But, lets face it, what the hell do I know? **


	34. Chapter 33

**Once again, it has been a while. However, this is the penultimate chapter! And then there is last chapter which is _almost _written and epilogue which shall be written shortly, and then this story is finished. Over a year after it was started. And when it started, it was a chapter a day. I feel as though I should apologise for this.**

**And also, once again, and mostly because some things really can't be said too often - I would like to thank InSilva. Who read this chapter and, as always, is responsible for it being better than I could ever hope to make it on my own, and is generally wonderful in all the ways that matter. I'm supposed to be being mean to her right now but, *shrug*, not feeling it. Sorry, mate. And thank you.  
**

* * *

Bobby looked over his shoulder hastily, grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily inside. "Get in here now," he hissed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Danny ignored the question. He _knew _what he was doing. All the anger, all the misery, all the _hurt – _everything was frozen, under layers of unbreakable ice and all he was left with was perfect clarity. "I need to talk to Carson," he repeated. "Now. Please."

"Danny, perhaps you should sit down?" Bobby suggested gently, staring at him, frowning unhappily, as if he wasn't liking what he was seeing.

He shook his head. "I want to talk to Carson. Right now," he said again, and he let Bobby see just a little hint of the ice.

With a sigh, Bobby put his hand on Danny's arm. "I need you to listen to me now, Danny, and I need you to stay calm, okay?"

"Of course," he agreed mildly and he smiled. He _was _calm. He had no intention of being anything other than calm.

"Carson's missing," Bobby told him quietly, with a wince.

The ice creaked slightly. Danny's eyes narrowed. "You lost him?" he asked softly. "_Where is he?" _He needed to find Carson. Carson was first. The start, the key to making everything all right again.

"Easy, Danny," Bobby said sharply. "We'll find him. I promise you, we'll find him. He's not stupid, he must know it's over. In all probability he's trying to leave the country. I got people I trust out looking for him." He paused meaningfully. "_We'll _find him. You need to stay out of it, Danny. Keep your head down. You're not getting near him."

Not an option. He needed to deal with Carson. It needed to be him. It wouldn't _work _if it wasn't him. Carson needed to pay, and then the others, and then everything would be alright again. Everything would go back to the way it was before.

He stared hard at Bobby and there was something else...? "What?" he asked quietly.

For a moment a shadow crossed Bobby's face. Worry and fear and terror. "Linus and Rusty aren't answering their phones," he explained tersely. "I've not been able to get hold of them."

The ice shifted uneasily. Danny couldn't think about that. He said nothing.

Something between pity and worry in his eyes, Bobby reached out and gently laid a hand on Danny's arm. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then a rabble of FBI agents came tripping into the room. "Agent Caldwell, we got a - " They stopped, huddled in the doorway, frowning at the sight of Danny.

Bobby cleared his throat and turned round. "Washington sent Agent Devlin to observe. Better be on your best behaviour, boys."

He got a couple of curious looks, but they seemed happy to accept Bobby's word. Of course. He took a seat near the door and concentrated on being bland and inconspicuous and unnoticeable.

The geeky-looking agent at the back shrugged out of his jacket and shoulder holster and laid them on the seat beside Danny before sitting in front of the computer and embarking on something that looked complicated. The others gathered round Bobby.

Danny sat, still as ice, and listened for what he needed to know.

* * *

Everything was going to hell, Bobby thought again. He tried not to look at Danny. Tried not to let any more attention be drawn to Danny. The very last thing they wanted was for someone to start making connections that couldn't be unmade. He could only hope that Saul got here soon. Could only hope that Saul could help Danny in a way he just couldn't while he was playing the FBI officer.

He frowned at Agent Torrance. "What is it, Mike?"

"We got a lead on Carson, sir," Mike said eagerly. "Get this. He commandeered a car. We traced it when the owner phoned 911 to ask about remuneration." He grinned and shook his head, and none of this was even a fraction as serious to him as it was to Bobby. "The car's been traced to outside Bureau headquarters. Looks like he ran home."

For a moment he thought that his legs wouldn't hold him. The world swam sickeningly in front of his eyes. His son was in there. God, his son was in there with that monster. _Linus..._

He swallowed hard and managed to twist his expression into nothing more than casual surprise. "Headquarters? We know where?" Please let them know where, please let them know where. He wasn't going to risk going in until he knew the situation. Not when Linus was at stake. Not when Linus could be hurt. In his entire career, Carson hadn't fired his gun once, and he clung to that fact with the desperation of a drowning man. With the desperation of a man watching his _son _drown. God.

"Nah." Mike shook his head apologetically. "Andy's working on that though." He nodded over to the computer and Andy was hard at work, and it wasn't good enough.

"What's the problem?" he demanded harshly, his voice just short of a shout and Andy looked surprised and a little confused.

"I'm trying to get permission to access the security footage," Andy explained meekly.

"_Forget the fucking permissions," _Bobby bellowed, and this time they were really looking shocked.

* * *

The FBI building. Carson was at the FBI building. That was all Danny needed to know, and he ignored the outbreak of technical talk. Not what was needed. He had to act. He had to make things right.

He glanced down at the seat beside him. The gun, just peeking out of the holster. Perfect.

* * *

Linus walked in step with Rusty, incredibly conscious of Carson and the coat-covered gun immediately behind them. They walked down the hallway and no one said a word, even while they passed other FBI staff in the corridor. Even when Carson was given a smile and a friendly nod. And a part of Linus longed to scream out to people. Something along the lines of "Help! We're being kidnapped!" But Carson was right; that would end disastrously for all of them. He guessed their best hope was to go along with it for the moment and hope for the best. At least Carson couldn't know about Dad. He couldn't know that if they were taken, the FBI's first priority was going to be getting them back safe. All they had to do was wait and stay sharp and hope.

He didn't look at Rusty. And he didn't think about what Carson had said any more than he thought about what Lenny had said. He still wasn't absolutely certain. Still wasn't even sure if it was his business.

They reached the stairwell. "Down," Carson said and they obeyed.

"Mind if I ask where we're going?" Rusty's voice was curious and courteous and Linus couldn't even guess what he was thinking.

"Well, ultimately, I'm going to a life of luxury and you're going back to Cell Block B, bending over for everyone who - "

" - heard that bit already," Rusty cut in smoothly. "Where are we going right now?"

They trudged down the stairs.

"Lowest level car park," Carson said at last. "It's nice and quiet. You won't be able to cause any problems."

"Wonder if we'll run into Woodward and Bernstein?" Rusty smiled brightly and Linus watched as Carson jerked the gun forwards, the coat slipping off, jabbing it into the small of Rusty's back.

"Technically speaking, Robert, I only need one of you," he said, obviously at the very limits of his patience.

Rusty stopped walking. "Technically speaking, Harry, there's no silencer on that gun and even in Vegas, gun shots inside an FBI building attract attention. Technically speaking, I don't think you're quite that stupid."

Carson paused on the stairs, reached out a hand and jerked Rusty round to face him. Linus automatically span to follow. "Technically speaking," Carson said in a low whisper. "I find you more fun to keep around than the boy. If I _have _to lose one of you, he's first on the list." Carson smiled and gripped a little tighter and the gun was pointing at Linus. "Is that what you want, Robert?"

Rusty's face was blank and he went to turn away and continue walking down the stairs. Carson didn't let him. "That was a question, Robert, wasn't it?"

"It isn't what I want," Rusty said clearly.

Carson paused. "Are you sure?" he asked softly, in a tone full of meaning.

Rusty and Linus both stared at him.

"I would have thought that you would be happy to get rid of any competition for Danny's affections. Especially one who thinks so little of you. How did Danny put it to you, Linus?" Carson smiled. "Oh yes. He said Robert wasn't at the top of his game. Said that had never been very impressive. And you laughed and agreed, do you remember that, Linus? You really couldn't blame dear Robert if he decided to let you die, now, could you?"

Linus flushed and he was only partly thinking about the mocking words in the bar. Mostly he was thinking about the number of times when he had genuinely wondered what use Rusty was. And now he damn well _knew _that Rusty had known.

"It's not what I want," Rusty repeated evenly.

Carson shrugged. "Suit yourself. Shall we?" He gestured with the gun and they walked down to the car park.

* * *

There wasn't any celebrations going on at Reuben's house right now. Not yet. Not until everyone was back, safe and sound. Which was taking a while, Livingston thought. He was worrying. Actually, _everyone _was worrying, just that no one was saying it. And it was stupid. There were a thousand things that could be happening, that could be delaying them. Not that they were exactly late yet. Just that they weren't here.

It felt like years since the lot of them – minus Rusty, of course – had met round Reuben's pool and listened to Danny explain the plan to hit the MGM Grand. Now they were back here again, and the plan had got bigger and the stakes had got higher and please, please God, let them have pulled it off.

Suddenly his phone rang and in his haste to get it out his pocket he nearly dropped it.

"That them?" Frank asked sharply, and he nodded and managed to push the button.

"Danny?" he asked eagerly. "What's happening."

"Can you get a look at security cameras in the FBI building, Livingston?" Danny asked, and there was something …._off..._about his voice. It sounded distant. Remote. Kind of frightening.

Not like that stopped him from opening his laptop and getting started. "Of course, Danny. It'll just take a few moments." He hesitated and watched the program load. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure," Danny answered easily and Livingston was pretty sure that was wrong in every way.

"Uh huh," he nodded and the others were gathered around him now, and he shrugged helplessly, signalling his complete bewilderment. "Is Saul with you? Have you heard from Rusty and Linus?"

Danny paused and Livingston could hear the sounds of traffic. He guessed Danny was driving. "I need to find Carson," Danny explained at last.

He frowned, fear gripping him immediately. "Bobby has Carson," he pointed out. Reuben and Virgil had _seen. _

"He lost him," Danny said matter-of-factly. "I need to find him."

"_He lost him?" _Livingston repeated in a voice that could only be described as a screech.

"Lost who?" Reuben demanded loudly.

"Carson," Livingston explained briefly, and all his attention was turned to the computer and to Danny. "You think he's going to his office?" he asked, fear running through him. That's where Rusty and Linus were, and his fingers flew over the keyboard, and there was nothing more important than getting into the security system.

He was only very dimly aware of the ripple of fear and profanity that shot round the room. Footage of hallways and doors and empty rooms sped across the screen and he didn't pause until he was staring at a stairwell, at Rusty and Linus and Carson, and he watched, helpless, useless, and Rusty smiled and said something and he was looking straight at Livingston...straight at the camera, and Livingston was perfectly positioned to see the gun and the fury in Carson's eyes.

* * *

Danny listened to Livingston stumble over his words. Carson had Rusty. And Linus. Carson was pointing a gun at them, was willing to hurt them.

_Doesn't matter_, he reminded himself, glancing at the gun lying on the passenger seat. Soon enough, Carson would be dead and everything would be fine.

* * *

Saul could still smell the smoke and even _that _made him feel sick. He'd tried his best not to look at the photographs as they burned, tried not to read any of the words, but he'd seen enough. Too much. He'd seen the truth. And he thought he'd probably see it for the rest of his life, every time he closed his eyes.

Still, he had to concentrate. Focus on what was important and that was Carson escaping and Danny being missing, and _Rusty..._ That was what mattered right now. He could have the nightmares later. He _would _have the nightmares later.

No one challenged him when he walked up to the mobile FBI office. Which was good. Right now, he wasn't completely certain he'd be able to tell the necessary lies.

Bobby was standing behind a computer, glaring at the man using it. He looked over when Saul came in and there was a carefully hidden look of wild terror in his eyes.

He walked closer. Bobby took him aside. "Carson's in the FBI building," he told Saul quietly, despair in his voice.

Saul closed his eyes for a moment. "Rusty? Linus?" he asked.

"I don't know." Bobby shook his head jerkily.

God. Oh, God. Would this never end? "I think Danny's gone to find Rusty," he told Bobby with difficulty.

For a moment Bobby looked startled. "Danny's right here," he said and he looked to the corner of the room. "Fuck," he said, looking at an empty chair.

"Danny was _here?" _Saul repeated stupidly, and he couldn't imagine why. Danny had seen the horror and Saul had thought...had been sure...that Danny's instincts would be to find and hold and comfort and never let go again. God knew he wanted to.

"Fuck," Bobby said again, in a different tone of voice. Saul followed his gaze and saw the empty holster.

Danny had a gun. _Danny _had a _gun _and Saul was frightened. He couldn't bear to think of it.

"He was looking for Carson," Bobby said quietly, his voice tight with emotion. "You know _why?"_

He thought about the photos. Thought about everything Carson had done. Thought about everything that Danny had seen. He shook his head. "Can't tell you, Bobby."

Bobby looked hard at him. "He did something to Rusty," he stated. "I'm not an idiot, Saul."

"Can't tell you," he said again. It wasn't his to tell.

Bobby closed his eyes, a moment of pain and frustration.

"Agent Caldwell?" The man behind the computer sounded jubilant. "I found him, sir. He and two other men just walked into the underground parking lot."

"He's got accomplices," one of the other agents muttered.

"Hostages," Bobby corrected heavily.

Carson had Rusty and Linus.

* * *

The car park was more than half empty and their footsteps echoed loudly in the silence. Somehow, Linus would have expected the FBI to keep every inch of their property immaculate, but there were cracks in the tarmac, rubbish scattered here and there, and some of the crash barriers were broken and lying loose. Carson looked round, lips pursed, and finally pointed towards a black SUV. "There," he announced. "We'll take that one. Get it open and get the engines started."

"You want us to do it? Rusty asked and his smile was mocking. "You don't know how, do you Harry? You need our help, isn't that right?"

The gun twitched in Carson's hand. "I'm not a thief, Robert, unlike yourself. I haven't spent my life rooting through other people's treasured possessions and trinkets, saying anything –_ being_ anything – in order to part people from their money. There are words for that sort of behaviour you know, Robert. I'm sure you've heard most of them."

The smile stayed on and Linus had _no idea_ what Rusty thought he was doing. "Think there are a lot of people looking for you quite urgently who'd disagree about the 'not-a-thief' part," Rusty commented.

"Not for long," Carson retorted. "Now, are you going to get this car open or not?"

Linus opened his mouth to argue that yes, of course they were, because Carson was still holding the gun and they had no choice, but Rusty got in first.

"_Not,_" he said with a smile of wild malevolence.

Linus shut his mouth.

Carson marched forwards a couple of steps and swung the gun, club-like. It crashed into the side of Rusty's mouth, and Rusty rocked back, blood pouring from his face, and in a second the barrel of the gun was pushed snugly under his chin, and Carson's body was pressed tight against Rusty's.

Frozen, Linus could only watch, not daring to move a muscle, not daring to draw attention to himself in case it somehow provoked Carson. This was a powerplay, he could see that, and Carson was still holding all the cards, and Rusty was trying his best to stare Carson down, but Linus just couldn't begin to see how Rusty could ever _hope _to win.

"I didn't like doing that, Robert," Carson said softly. "I don't enjoy violence. But if you insist on making it necessary, I won't hesitate. If you insist on making me, I'll hurt you until you're crying and pleading for me to stop. And I won't listen."

Linus' eyes were fixed on Rusty's face, and he could see the waver that Rusty was trying to hide.

"I've read your file, you know Robert," Carson added, inexplicably. "The one with all those nice photographs? I keep it beside my bed."

Rusty blanched and Linus could see the fear and misery that couldn't be faked. "Leave him alone," he said uselessly, and neither man spared him a glance.

"I know the kind of treatment you're used to, Robert," Carson went on, his eyes staring deeply into Rusty, the hand that wasn't holding the gun trailing down Rusty's chest the way it had in the bar, and Linus felt sick to the stomach at the sight. "Are you really that anxious to be hurt again? I can do everything they did. If you make me." He suddenly seized Rusty's bandaged wrist and he _squeezed _and Rusty gasped and bit his lip, and his gaze dropped away from Carson's, and he was staring at the ground, pale and trembling and defeated. "Is this what you want, Robert?" Carson demanded and his fingers were digging deeper into Rusty's wrist and Linus could see spots of blood fading through.

"No," Rusty whispered.

Carson smiled widely. "I'm sorry, Robert? I'm afraid I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"No," Rusty said, louder, and his voice cracked noticeably.

"No _what?"_ Carson demanded thrusting the gun up painfully, and he might say that he wasn't enjoying this, but by the look on his face, Linus would bet that he hadn't had this much fun in years.

"No I don't want you to hurt me anymore," Rusty said robotically.

"Wrong answer," Carson told him and he twisted his grip on Rusty's wrist sharply and Rusty cried out before he could stop himself.

"Stop it," Linus yelled, unexpected, helpless protectiveness roaring through him.

"Oh, Robert's used to worse than _this,_ aren't you, Robert?" Carson asked carelessly. "Aren't you?" he repeated sharply when Rusty didn't immediately respond, words and fingers vicious.

"Yes," Rusty managed.

"This is nothing, isn't it, Robert?" Carson went on.

"...nothing," Rusty mumbled in agreement and there was pain in his eyes and sweat on his brow.

"Would you like me to stop, Robert?" Carson asked gleefully.

"Yes," Rusty admitted, very, very quietly, and Linus couldn't bear to see the way his head dipped in shame.

Carson smiled. "Say it properly."

"I'd like you to stop," Rusty said softly, his voice ragged.

"Stop what?" Carson pressed, and his grip on Rusty's wrist didn't lessen at all, and it must be _agony _now.

"Stop hurting me." It wasn't a demand. It was a request. A plea.

"Good manners cost _nothing_, Robert," Carson said softly.

There was nothing in Rusty's eyes. No spark of defiance. No hint of struggle. "Stop hurting me _please_...sir."

"That's good, Robert," Carson approved, letting go of Rusty's wrist and stepping back slightly. "Well done. Now, you're going to open this car for me, aren't you? And then Linus is going to drive us away from here while you keep me company on the backseat."

"Yes." Rusty's voice was hollow. Broken. Whatever the confrontation had been about, whatever Rusty had been trying to achieve, there could be no doubt who the winner was.

"Call me 'sir'," Carson invited. "I liked that."

"Bet it makes you feel almost like a real man," Linus cut in furiously.

Rusty wouldn't even look at him. "Yes, sir," he whispered and blood dripped from his mouth.

"Good." Carson smiled. "Clean yourself up first." He reached into his pocket and threw a tissue at Rusty. "You disgust me."

Flushing dully, Rusty obeyed.

"Now, steal this car for me, Robert. There's a good boy."

Rusty reached into his pocket, and Linus could see his hands shaking, and he wasn't altogether surprised when Rusty fumbled the tool he was reaching for and it fell under the car. "Sorry," he stammered quickly, and he crouched down immediately and reached for it.

Carson tutted loudly. "Pathetic," he said. "Really, Robert, you just can't do anything right, can you? _Can you?" _

"No, sir," Rusty answered, and his voice was light and mocking, and he stood up and span in one smooth motion and the broken end of the crash barrier was already in his hand, and it caught Carson hard across the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards. "Run!" Rusty said, and Linus wasn't about to argue.

He ran, automatically heading away from the SUV, ducking alongside the walls, keeping low and keeping fast, until he was crouched, bewildered and more than a little lost as to what had just happened, behind a row of parked cars. That had been an act. That had all been an act and he'd fallen for it just as hard as Carson. He shook his head and it was only then that he fully realised that Rusty wasn't with him. He glanced further along the wall, towards the stairs, hoping that, somehow, Rusty had managed to get ahead of him. At this stage he would almost believe anything was possible. But there was no sign of Rusty, and with a feeling of dread, he cautiously inched his head above the bonnet of the nearest car, looking back towards the SUV.

He was just in time to see the moment when Carson snapped the cuff on Rusty's wrist.

Fuck.

* * *

Carson had been lucky. Or Rusty had been unlucky. He'd dropped the railing instantly, started running, and Carson had been falling and his flailing arm had just managed to grip the back of Rusty's belt and drag him down to the floor.

There'd been as struggle, brief and desperate and undignified., but Carson wasn't letting go and Rusty flung wild punches, kicked out as hard as he could, and with every second that passed, with every moment that Carson was holding him down, the panic grew, memory raged, and thought and coordination got that bit more difficult. Meanwhile Carson was recovering from his shock and his punches were swift, accurate and trained, and in the end, somehow, Rusty lay on the ground, and Carson knelt on top of him, pinning him down smugly.

"Did you really think this was a good idea, Robert?" Carson scolded, and struggling, feeling sick and forcing himself to get through it, Rusty looked up at him and took a certain satisfaction in the blackening eye and the swollen lip, and he didn't bother to hide it, and that was stupid, because Carson brought his elbow down on Rusty's throat and _pushed, _and breathing was suddenly impossible, and pain became everything, and he fought as hard as he could, but Carson was relentless, watching him, smiling as he choked, and the edges of his vision were blackening, and he'd _wanted _to die yesterday, but now there was Danny, he'd just got Danny back and he didn't want that to end so soon, he didn't want that to end at all, and suppose Danny didn't believe he hadn't wanted it, and, god, he was going to die and it was going hurt Danny so much, it was going to...

Abruptly the pain and the pressure eased and he choked on lungfuls of sweet-tasting air, helpless to do anything but lie there, and then he felt the snap of cold metal closing around his wrist, and he was dragged upwards, attached to the car door handle.

Silent screaming. Overarching panic. He clawed desperately at the cuff and his wrist, tugging furiously, but he was trapped, handcuffed and trapped, and that didn't stop him as he wrenched at his hand, trying to pull it out of the cuff by sheer force, and the bandages had slipped off now, and the raw flesh below had started bleeding again, and maybe the added stickiness would be enough to let him free himself, if he just tried to force it a little harder.

The pain didn't matter.

* * *

Carson took a step back and watched in fascination as Robert tore frantically at his own wrist. Sort of thing he could watch all day. All pride and defiance and intelligence gone. Man reduced to nothing more than a trapped animal. Oh, if he'd known he could get _this _sort of delicious reaction, just with a pair of handcuffs, he'd have tried it long ago. He smiled regretfully. If only he had the time to _really_ play. He'd toss him a blunt penknife, stand well back and watch the fun.

From somewhere behind him he heard a gasp and the sound of something falling. He smiled a little more to himself. "Going to leave Robert behind, Linus?" he called. "Feel free. I'm sure we'll find lots to talk about. Isn't that right, Robert?"

Really, he needed Linus to come back. Not least because he seriously doubted that Robert was going to be in any fit state to hotwire the car anytime soon. From everything he'd observed, the boy was softhearted. Weak. Easily manipulated. He had the feeling that if he did something extreme enough, if he provoked a good enough reaction, the boy wouldn't be able to help but interfere.

He crouched down above Robert and let his hand trail down Robert's chest, over his stomach, and poised, ready to undo his belt. Robert cringed back and looked at him, and there was no recognition in those eyes, no comprehension. He smiled a little more. Absolutely delightful.

* * *

Rusty was lost. Buried, screaming, deep inside his head and there was no way out.

He was cuffed to the bed in the infirmary, and he couldn't move, couldn't escape, and he pulled at his wrists, struggled against the restraints, and no matter how much he hurt, he couldn't get free.

No one came near him except Moffatt. Moffatt was there all the time, handfeeding him ice chips, giving him bedbaths, caring for him, pawing at him, and with every touch he wanted to scream.

Moffatt's hand moved down his chest, over his stomach, and then Moffatt was undoing his belt, unfastening his pants, and he cringed, and Moffatt was smiling at him, and then the hand was in his pants, squeezing at his thigh, and it hurt, somehow, unexpectedly.

"What do we have here?" Moffatt asked, sounding surprised, and Rusty didn't know either, and Moffatt's hand moved again, brushed against him and he was so fucking ashamed, and then Moffatt was holding a hand in front of his face, and his fingers were covered in blood. "Been doing my job for me again, Robert? Oh, you _are _pathetic, aren't you?"

He knew his agreement showed in his eyes.

* * *

Linus couldn't watch anymore. Couldn't bear anymore. This wasn't an act. No matter what had come before, this wasn't an act.

He charged forwards, out of his hiding place, hoping for surprise and momentum to win the day, but Carson stood up almost casually, wiping Rusty's blood off on a tissue, and he turned round and grabbed Linus and none of Linus' punches connected.

"You're about as smart as Robert here," Carson scolded him lightly.

He glanced over at Rusty automatically, and Rusty's eyes were glazed over and his breathing was shallow and he didn't even seem to be seeing Carson and Linus. Wildly, Linus wondered if somehow Rusty had been drugged, if somehow he could have missed that.

He tried to get free, but Carson's grip on his arms was unbreakable. "Okay, okay, I'll start the car for you," he said quickly, because he had to do something, had to keep the attention on him, had to make sure whatever Carson was doing to Rusty he didn't do it anymore.

Carson smiled. "And you won't try and escape again?" he asked sceptically.

"Right," he lied, and he hung his head in apparent defeat.

The smile grew wider. "Somehow, Linus, I don't think I can trust you."

He blinked, and then his left wrist was being gripped, and Carson's hand was clamped tight around the last two fingers on his hand.

"No!" he exclaimed, suddenly fearful.

The smile was vicious. "Yes," Carson said, and he pulled back and he _twisted._

Linus heard the crack. Then he heard his own voice screaming. Then he felt the pain. White hot. Explosive. Echoing through his body. Burning through his mind. Agony unbearable, like nothing he'd ever felt before, worse than anything he could imagine.

He screamed and Carson smiled and shoved him hard against the car.

"Now get it started."

* * *

A scream and Rusty was back in the world, watching Linus suffer. Fuck. Fuck, it wasn't supposed to be Linus. It was _never _supposed to be Linus. He had to do something, and he looked round desperately, ignoring the parts of his mind that were still overwhelmed with fear and pain and violation.

"Now get it started," Carson said, looking at Linus, the gun back loosely in his hand.

Rusty couldn't see any way in which they could get out of this.

Then Danny walked round the corner and pointed a gun straight at Carson's head. He didn't look at Rusty. Or Linus. They were both standing there, hurting, held at gunpoint, and Danny wasn't looking at them. Danny only had eyes for Carson, and he was smiling in a way that Rusty had never seen before, bright and sharp and absolutely terrifying. "_Hi," _he breathed, delight in his voice.

* * *

**Tune in next time...this weekend, actually. Promise. Ish. **


	35. Chapter 34

**Told you that I'd post this this weekend. Though, given the extremely long time it's taken to get to this point, I could understand if you didn't believe me.**

**Anyway, strictly speaking, this is the last chapter of 'Falling like dominoes'. Though there will be an epilogue that I hope to get posted later in the week. And I want to take the opportunity of thanking each and every one of you for reading and I really hope that you've enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. And I want to especially thank those of you who have been nice enough to take the time to tell me what you think. Or, at certain points, to suggest that it might be quite nice to see another chapter one of these days. It really means a lot to me, so thank you so much.  
**

**And of course, naturally and inevitably I want to thank InSilva. Who has been offering support and encouragement and much-needed opinions on how things could/should go since I first proposed the idea for this. Sometimes that support and encouragement has meant screaming and sometimes it's meant block capitals and shouting about things that she'd rather weren't happening. All of it's needed. This story would never have been finished without her. Actually, this story would quite probably never have been _started _without her. Oh, that's right. It's all your fault. ;) *smiles* Thanks, mate. All for you.  
**

* * *

The FBI building loomed above them. Linus was in there. Everything was going to hell and Bobby was going out of his mind.

The parking lot was surrounded. Subtly. They were certain that Carson was still in there. They were certain that Linus and Rusty were still in there. And _he _was certain they were alive. They had to be.

He barked orders and tried to skip past as many procedures as possible and tried to emphasise the fact that there was to be no shooting. He had to keep calm. He had to stay in charge. Had to make sure that no one even suspected that this was so much more important than a simple apprehension gone bad. And all the time, he was screaming inside, left outside and his son was missing, his child was in danger and he could do _nothing. _

He glanced over at Saul, just as pale, just as afraid. Everything was going to hell? They were already there. Both of them.

* * *

It was supposed to be simple. Supposed to be easy. But he'd taken a second – just a second, just enough time for reaction to set in. He'd wanted Carson to see death's face.

Instead he'd seen Carson pointing his gun at Linus.

"Kill me, kill the boy," Carson said quietly, and it wasn't enough that Carson's face was pale, wasn't enough that there was fear in Carson's eyes, a tremor in his voice, it wasn't _enough. _Because now he was standing here things weren't simple or easy.

Wasn't going to stop him trying. "Put the gun down," he ordered.

"Danny," Rusty said, and Danny ignored him.

"I'll put mine down when you put yours down," Carson lied.

"Put it down," he said a little louder, and the ice was melting and he was angry. "Put it down now." He wondered. Wondered if he was fast enough. Maybe if he was quick enough, if he was good enough, Linus wouldn't even get hurt.

"Oh, but are you _sure, _Danny?" Carson asked softly.

He wasn't. "Put the gun down," he said and he didn't exactly know what was going to happen if Carson didn't. He was fresh out of ideas.

"You know, Danny," Carson began thoughtfully and there was a little more colour in his cheeks and if Danny had to guess, he'd say that Carson was beginning to feel more and more in charge of the situation. "I have to wonder. What are you doing here? What's your plan?"

He didn't answer. But his finger tightened on the trigger and Carson's breathing hitched and maybe that was answer enough.

"Danny," Rusty said softly again, and Danny wasn't going to look, couldn't look, and Carson was smiling, puzzled, still pointing a gun at Linus, and Danny _wished_...wished that it didn't matter. Wished he could just do what needed to be done.

"Got it covered," he promised unevenly. He'd find a way to make it work. "Gonna make everything better."

"What are you doing?" Rusty asked and his voice was calm.

"He's got to die, Rus'," he explained intently. It was the only way, but he turned and found himself _looking,_ and Rusty was staring at him, and there was blood on his face, and his pants were undone and he was handcuffed, and Danny could see the pain in his eyes and the terror, and he couldn't help but moan at the sight. Not right. Not _right. _He had to make things right again. He had to kill Carson.

When he turned back, Carson was gazing at him. Smiling at him. "_Oh," _Carson breathed softly, and his voice was filled with terrible epiphany.

The gun was still pointed at Linus, but now Carson's eyes slid sideways, past Danny, looking at Rusty, and Danny didn't know where he got the nerve. Carson didn't even have the right to _look _at Rusty. "Nice to hear from you again, Robert," Carson began casually. "You know, I really thought that you were gone for good that time. I really thought I'd broken you. But once again, you just bounce back, don't you, Robert? Like a cockroach."

"Shut up," Danny whispered.

"Mmm." Carson nodded and he was watching Danny now. "Maybe not a cockroach, actually. No matter how much you get hurt, you come running back for more, don't you? That makes you more like a battered wife, don't you think? Pathetically whining that it _hurts_ and then scurrying back for more of the same, because the way he hurts you, why, that means he _must _love you, doesn't it?"

"I said shut up!" Danny yelled, and for a moment he was sure that he'd pull the trigger and for a moment he was sure that Carson would, and he heard Linus' breathing, shaky and afraid.

He stared at Carson. Carson stared back.

* * *

There was a hold-up of some sort. Saul wasn't altogether sure what was going on, but Bobby had been talking in hushed frantic tones to a couple of his subordinates for over a minute now.

Too much of a delay. And he knew Bobby felt it too. Thick anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Rusty and Linus with Carson. Danny missing. All lost. All he could do was pray they were safe. And he was. Hard.

Bobby wasn't looking at him, still caught up in argument. Something about waiting for back up. Standard procedures they weren't about to follow. He stared down at the concrete steps and shivered.

Every time he stopped, even for a moment, he was thinking about the file again. About the photos. Impossible not to think about Rusty – his _boy, _the son he should have had – alone and hurting. Impossible not to think of sickening injuries and unforgivable assaults. Impossible not to know that Rusty had suffered and had never wanted anyone to know. He swallowed hard and tried to push the images out of his head but they played over and over and he watched, helpless and angry and heartsick.

"Saul!" Bobby hissed his name, sounding impatient and concerned. He glanced up, blinking, and suddenly realised that his phone was ringing. Oh.

When he pressed the button, Livingston started talking. "There's been no sign of Carson leaving. What's the hold up?"

"How do you know?" he asked, realising for the first time that he hadn't even thought to let the others know what was going on.

"Danny called me. He asked me to find Carson and - "

" - you told him?" Saul asked, his heart sinking. "Is he in the parking lot?"

"Yes," Livingston said quietly. "I saw him. He went in about five minutes before you arrived. Saul, he sounded...I mean, he..." He hesitated.

Saul could imagine how Danny had sounded. "Everything's going to be alright," he promised hopefully.

"We're going to come down there," Livingston said after a moment.

"No," he said immediately.

"Saul - "

" - Is Reuben there?" he asked. "Pass the phone over."

There was a pause and then he heard Reuben's voice. "Are they okay?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Stay where you are. Keep the others with you."

Reuben snorted. "You're kidding, right?"

"Reuben," he warned. He glanced round. None of the agents were near him. Still, he lowered his voice. "This goes bad, we need as many people on the outside as possible. There's nothing you can do here."

There was silence. "Be careful," Reuben said at last. "Bring them home safe."

"I will," he promised, his mouth dry. He hoped he wasn't lying.

* * *

Rusty bit his lip and forced himself to stay quiet. This wasn't about him. Except as far as anything about Danny was about him.

The fierce heat of shame was still burning through him and almost unconsciously, his hand crept down and he fastened his pants as fast as possible. So many times he'd found himself dressing quickly, desperate to cover his disgrace before anyone saw. And now Danny had seen him, exposed and humiliated. He forced himself to shove his self-disgust as deep inside his mind as he could. There were so many more important things right now.

Danny wasn't listening to him. Danny was only listening to Carson. Was letting Carson's each and every poisonous whisper echo round his soul. And Rusty knew what that felt like, knew how dangerous that was, and he was afraid. Oh, Danny was hearing the words Rusty was saying, but he was missing everything that Rusty _wasn't _saying. Everything that was important, everything that _they _were was getting lost, drowned in Danny's own, twisted worldview. And Rusty didn't understand where it was coming from, not really.

Danny had been angry with Carson before, of course he had. He'd watched Carson hurt Rusty and even before Rusty had begun to understand how Danny felt, the depth of the unconditional that was still there in spite of everything; even before all of that, he'd known there would be anger. Irrational and disproportionate fury was only natural. But not _this. _Last night, it hadn't been like this. Not cold and unthinking. Not desperate and murderous. Not frozen and stupid and not even _caring _about the consequences.

What he'd said to Carson earlier had been true. Gunshots in an FBI building drew attention. And he'd delayed them enough, had done his best to get noticed on the way down, odds were, someone was looking for them. Danny killed Carson here, now, there would be consequences. Serious consequences. Permanent consequences. They'd take Danny away, they'd lock Danny up, and he didn't think he'd be able to stop them this time, and he was almost screaming at the thought. The last four years swam in front of his eyes; Danny in his place. No. No, a thousand times no.

And he didn't want Danny to be a murderer. Not for him. Not for anything.

He wasn't going to let it happen.

Unwillingly, he looked away from Danny for a moment. Looked across at Linus. The kid was staring at the gun like he couldn't quite believe it. Shocked. Probably _in _shock actually. Still, he was keeping it together and Rusty felt a burst of pride that he had no right to. And Linus wasn't just watching the gun, he was watching Carson's hand. Waiting for opportunity.

He managed to catch Linus' eyes. Acknowledged the fear. Tried to look reassuring. And he could see the question on Linus' face, and he looked pointedly over Linus' shoulders and saw the reluctant understanding. When opportunity came, Linus should run. Take himself out of the situation. Last thing Carson needed was a hostage. Linus' eyes flickered to Danny and Rusty smiled and tried to look confident. He had to guess, his present circumstances made it less than effective. But he could look after Danny. He would look after Danny.

First he had to make Danny hear him.

He bit his lip and carefully – very, very carefully – eased the car door open. There was a dull click, but no one noticed and he reached up as high as he could and twisted off a little piece of plastic insulation.

He pushed it into the lock on the handcuffs and grimaced. Not ideal. But he could make it work. If he had enough time, he could make it work.

He hoped he had enough time.

* * *

Carson stared at Danny expectantly for a long, long moment and inside he was smiling. Danny shuffled uncomfortably. Oh, he could build on this. He could work with this. To think he'd been wrong for so long. Seeing pathetic, dog-like devotion on one side and imagining reluctant, pragmatic self-interest on the other. And all the time it had been _this. _This glorious, fucked-up, loving mess. Beautiful in all the right ways. For him.

Danny was vulnerable for whatever reason. Off balance. Right on the edge. And that meant that, no matter who was pointing a gun at whom, Danny wasn't the one in control. He would make mistakes. Carson could make him make mistakes. And then, well. He rather thought that if he had both Danny _and _Robert, he'd be able to make them do whatever he wanted. And all the problems they'd caused him would just melt away. He could get both of them. All it would take was a little manipulation, pushing the right buttons, twisting the right knives. Sticks and stones may break bones. Words were _elegant. _

He kept his gaze and his gun trained on Linus. But the disbelieving smile was all for Danny. "Oh, Danny. Don't tell me you actually _care _about that pathetic waste of space over there?"

"Don't you even talk about him," Danny ground out instantly and Carson wanted to laugh out loud. So easy. Pushing Danny into distraction.

"But he _is _pathetic," he insisted gently. "You should have seen him earlier. Sobbing and whining and trying to tear his own hand off." He watched Danny's face pale and his eyes refocus and the tip of the gun wavered slightly and Carson pressed on quickly. "Why would you even want to know someone like that?"

Danny didn't answer. And that wasn't good. He needed Danny playing his game.

"That was a question, Danny," he pointed out with a smile. "I'd like you to answer. Remember, I could shoot quite a few bits off the boy without actually killing him."

"You're dead the moment you pull the trigger," Danny told him flatly.

Carson smiled. "I'm sure that would be of _great _comfort to poor Linus," he murmured, as cool as he could and his heart was hammering in his chest no matter that he was _sure _that Danny's little perception of himself as the good guy would never let him risk the boy that way.

Danny flinched slightly and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. Oh, so _easy. _So delightfully predictable.

"Then again, I suppose he might just forgive you at that," he mused out loud, turning just enough to watch Danny's face. "After all, you do have a knack for making people forgive you for the unforgivable. Don't you?" He paused. "Why would you want to know Robert, Danny?"

"Danny, don't talk to him," Linus burst out urgently. Ah. Loyalty. Pathetic.

Fortunately, Danny didn't seem to be listening. Actually, Carson would be willing to bet that Danny hadn't even heard. That was fine. That was more than fine. As long as Danny could still hear _him._ And he could.

"Why would you want to know Robert?" he probed insistently and he watched Danny bite his lip on the answer. "Why would you want to know someone so far beneath you?" Danny was wonderfully tense, almost shaking with hate and effort. He just needed to push a little harder. Just needed to cut a little deeper. "I suppose, once upon a time, you might have been able to get some use out of him. On his knees, if nothing else. But now?" He smiled cruelly and he could see the silent scream racing all the way through Danny. "Why would you want to know a snivelling, pathetic, disgusting waste of space like that. Why would you - "

"_He's my friend," _Danny cut in desperately, wildly, "_I lov-_ " He clamped his mouth shut immediately, and Carson could see there was so much more that he wanted to say, that he was never going to let himself say. Not that it mattered. He won. Danny lost.

Carson frowned in his best impression of perplexed puzzlement. "He's your friend," he repeated slowly, all doubtful, polite disbelief. "Really. I'd never have guessed."

The look on Danny's face was tortured. It was bliss.

* * *

Linus' hand was throbbing; the pain sharp and unbearable. He was staring down the barrel of a gun and he'd never been this frightened before. Not in his life.

He'd been so relieved to see Danny. So sure that Danny would have a plan, that Danny would save them. And it had hurt when he realised that Danny wasn't here for him. Danny wasn't even here for Rusty. Danny was here to kill Carson; that was all he wanted, and it wasn't like Linus hadn't _seen _the moment when Danny had been weighing up his options. Had been considering risking Linus' life in order to get what he wanted. And that had hurt. That had hurt so much, and he really had been angry, really had been upset, frightened, feeling like he meant _nothing _to Danny.

Somehow, that had all went away when Carson had started talking. Because Danny was vulnerable and Danny was in pain, and Carson was tearing him open, every word carefully calculated and, God knew, _Linus _wanted Carson dead too. And it was all too obvious that Danny wasn't in his right mind right now. Was doing things, saying things, _showing _things that he'd never dream of revealing normally.

Linus couldn't be angry. Not with _Danny._

He listened to the words that Carson spat, ugly and untrue, and he saw their effect. Saw Danny absorbing every word, saw Danny fighting and losing, needing to defend himself against the pain and the accusation. He hated it.

And Rusty had told him to run as soon as he got the chance, and he would, because Rusty was right; they had to deny Carson a hostage. But he wasn't going to run far.

* * *

Rusty struggled impossibly harder, forcing the make-shift lockpick deeper into the cuffs, bending his arm painfully. He needed to get free. He could see Danny hurting more and more, vanishing into an abyss of guilt and misery. He needed to make Carson stop.

* * *

Danny stood and blinked and he couldn't say Carson was wrong. Last week he would have denied even Rusty's friendship, let alone the rest, the thousand feelings, the connection, need, love – everything that the word 'friendship' didn't even begin to cover. Last _month _if someone had told him he had news of Rusty – fuck, maybe even if someone had told him that Rusty was _dead –_ he would have said he wasn't interested. Hell, when Frank _had _had word of Rusty, he hadn't cared. He'd turned his back. If it hadn't been for this job he'd have left Rusty alone forever. He could feel himself trembling at the thought.

"I suppose," Carson went on cheerfully, "What really puzzles me here is the timing. You came here to kill me. And you didn't even _look _at Robert." He laughed briefly. "Some friend," he remarked and Danny knew that Rusty was sitting just over there, hurting and trapped, and he hadn't killed Carson and he didn't know how to make it better. "But that's not really the point," Carson went on, and he looked away from Linus, looked at Danny through narrowed eyes. "What's different from last night?"

The pictures swam in front of his eyes again and his vision went blurry and the gun was so heavy in his hand.

"Danny!" Linus yelled and he stood up straight in time to see Carson take a calculated step towards him.

"Don't move," he insisted and his voice cracked, just a little.

Carson held his free hand up mockingly. "Of course," he agreed. "Now, Robert and the boy were breaking into my office to plant evidence. Tell me, Danny, where were you breaking into?"

Photos. Words. Agony beyond human endurance, beyond human understanding.

"That was a question, Danny," Carson chided, gesturing with the gun meaningfully. "I like it when you answer them."

"Hotel room," Danny told him jerkily.

"My hotel room," Carson said slowly with relish. "And you must have seen something there, something that..._oh." _He paused and the smile widened meaningfully. "Oh. Tell me, Danny, did you enjoy my bedtime reading?"

"_Danny!" _Rusty snapped a fraction of a second before he would have pulled the trigger. After a moment, he let the point of the gun drop, ever so slightly.

Carson's face was white and he was breathing hard. He licked his lips a couple of times before he continued. "I didn't do that, you know. All those pictures? That had nothing to do with me. I'm not a man of violence."

Danny knew that. Didn't make a difference. Carson had _used _it, had seen vulnerability and exploited it for everything he could.

"So Robert's been hurt," Carson said sympathetically. "Your 'friend' has been hurt and you feel bad. I can understand that." He paused. "Of course, you didn't give a shit in the first place," he said softly. "You didn't give a fuck when it was happening."

The words hit Danny like a sledgehammer. Too close to what he'd just been thinking. Too true.

"Yes, I arrested Robert," Carson said intently. "But I wasn't the one he got arrested for. I wasn't the one who let him – who let my 'friend' – take the fall for what I'd done. You never even _tried _to save him, did you Danny? _Did you?" _

"No," he whispered.

"Because you couldn't," Rusty insisted, somewhere far away. "I made sure of that."

And that didn't matter. He should have been able to protect them. They should never have come to this. They should never have been here.

Carson was remorseless. "And then I wasn't the one who left my 'friend' in hell for four years. And you've seen those pictures, same as me. I think _hell _probably covers it nicely, don't you? But I wasn't the one who left my so-called friend in hell for four years without even visiting. Not even a phone call, Danny. How did you sleep at night? How _do _you sleep at night? Do you dream about it? Do you imagine dear Robert behind bars? Can you picture his face the first time the guards stripped him off and searched him for contraband? Do you wake up seeing the men waiting in line to _fuck _him? To hold him down and claim him and make him scream? I bet they enjoyed themselves. I bet they fucked him over and over and I bet they loved it. Can you see it, Danny? Can you imagine it?"

"_Stop it," _Danny screamed wildly. "Stop it, stop it, stop it." He could see it, of course he could see it. Of course he'd seen it at the time. And it had hurt too much to think of.

"Not even a phone call, Danny." Carson shook his head disapprovingly. "Who needs friends like you?"

Rusty and Linus were both talking. Shouting. Trying to drown Carson out. Danny couldn't listen.

"Do you think it would have made a difference?" Carson's voice was quiet and contemplative. "If you'd been there for him, I mean. If he hadn't been so alone. Do you think he might not have wound up quite so utterly broken? Would you have made a difference?"

Oh, God. It could have. He would have. He could have done something. He would have found a way to do something. And Rusty wouldn't have been hurting alone and if Danny had been there surely Rusty wouldn't have been lost to self-doubt and self-disgust. He stared helplessly at Carson.

"So it's your fault, isn't it, Danny?" Carson asked softly.

He nodded. "Yes," he whispered.

"No!" Rusty shouted, and Danny _almost _heard him. "It was my fault. My decision. You didn't get a say in it."

Carson didn't seem to hear either. "Even now, you only called him because you needed him, didn't you?"

He nodded.

Carson smiled. "That's what friendship is to you, isn't it? People who let you use them. Who'll let you hurt them for your advantage."

"No it's not," Linus snapped. "Danny, stop listening to him. Nothing he says is true."

But it was, and it was all Danny could do to keep the gun in his hand as Carson took a step closer and carried on listing his failures. His crimes.

"I do _admire _the way you set me up, Danny. That was very impressive. Very ruthless. Sending Robert off to see me. To lie to me. And when he was hurt, why you just sent him off again, didn't you? That's what you do to the people you lov...oops." He smiled. "That's what you do to your _friends. _No wonder Robert knows he isn't worth anything."

Carson took another step forwards. The gun was still pointed dead at Linus. And Danny couldn't _think._

"Stay back," he ordered.

Carson ignored him. "And last night..._oh." _The smile was suddenly wider, absolute, savage delight. "You were _watching_, weren't you? In the bar. You were watching me and Robert. And you did _nothing. _You know, if Robert is the battered wife in this scenario, I think we both know what your role is, don't we? Oh, but it doesn't _matter_ how much you hurt him, does it? Because you both know that deep down, it's just because you love him._"_

He barely noticed the soft moan that escaped him.

* * *

Saul stayed close behind Bobby as they walked downstairs, watching frantic hand signals, hearing whispered orders and not understanding. Bobby's gun was drawn. All the guns were drawn. He hated this. Hated guns. Hated knowing that his boys were in trouble and being able to do nothing but follow a bunch of armed cops to find him.

He wanted them safe. And he knew Bobby did too.

They paused outside the last doorway to the parking lot and he watched as the FBI agents checked their guns, one more time.

He hoped they were doing the right thing.

* * *

In one smooth movement Carson reached into his pocket and threw something over to him. Danny caught it in one hand and risked a quick glance down. And stared. A bloodied tissue.

"That's Robert's blood," Carson explained softly. "Did you know he's been cutting himself?" He shook his head sadly. "Pathetic. Now, why do you think a grown man would do that, Danny? What do you think he was thinking about, mmmh? Do you think he was thinking about _you? _Do you think he was thinking about how you hurt him, telling himself that you care about him, at least a little? Do you think he lay on his bed, in the dark, trailing a razor blade over his thigh, wishing that you'd save him? Do you think he held the blade to his wrists, his throat? Do you think that he _wondered? _Do you think that he wanted to?"

Somewhere, Linus was swearing. Harsh words that Danny didn't even know he knew. Rusty was silent. Danny was _seeing. _Seeing Rusty holding the knife, just as Carson had said. Seeing Rusty bleeding. Hurting himself. And he knew Rusty had wondered. And he _knew_ Rusty wanted to. _Had _wanted to. Almost, probably, nearly certainly didn't want to anymore.

He couldn't look away from the bloody tissue. Rusty's blood. On his hands.

He didn't even hear Carson coming towards him. Didn't hear Carson laughing.

* * *

Carson smiled, a glorious moment of triumphant apotheosis. He had won. He had _won. _He revelled in the stricken look on Danny's face, the utter loss and desolation and he took the last couple of steps forward. Reached out for the gun.

Then, the voice. "You talk too much, Harry."

* * *

Linus watched Carson advance on Danny and his heart was in his mouth and the point of Carson's gun wavered away from him, and he was meant to run, he'd said

he'd run. He wasn't going to run.

He was already rushing forwards when he heard Rusty's voice. "You talk too much, Harry."

* * *

The cuffs fell open at last and it was too late, Rusty could see that it was too late, could see Carson reaching for Danny.

He threw himself to his feet and he wasn't going to get to Carson in time, wasn't going to get to Danny in time.

When he spoke his voice was light. Mocking. Taunting. Precisely designed to annoy, to anger. "You talk too much, Harry."

* * *

Carson spun round at the sound of Robert's voice, shock and startlement and anger, before he could think, before he could consider, and he was facing Robert, the gun swinging round, and Linus, frightened, terrified and angry beyond belief, grabbed his wrist, trying to twist the gun out of his hand.

It was difficult to say who pulled the trigger. The gunshot was loud. The bullet hit the floor. Linus was distracted and Carson slammed his fist into broken fingers, shoved his elbow up into Linus' throat, sent him staggering backwards, followed it up with a punch that sent him to the floor.

Less than a second, but long enough that he didn't even notice Robert until the punch sent him stumbling across the car trunk.

The gun was still in his hand. He spun round. Everything was falling apart and he pointed his gun at Danny. There still had to be a way back from this.

* * *

Danny heard the gunshot. He dropped the tissue. Looked round wildly. Carson was standing against a car. He raised the gun and knew what he had to do.

* * *

Saul and Bobby heard the sound of the gunshot and they were running immediately, the FBI agents spreading out through the parking lot, following the noise.

* * *

"Danny!" Rusty screamed and Danny hesitated. If he shot Carson now, Carson would shoot him. Carson would kill him. But Carson would be _dead._ And wasn't that what mattered?

* * *

"Nobody move!" Bobby yelled, a well-hidden note of panic in his voice.

Saul stared at the scene. Danny and Carson stood, maybe six feet apart, pointing guns at each other. At that distance neither of them could miss. Rusty was standing, his back to Saul and Bobby and seemed like Danny had his full attention. Unsurprisingly. A few feet away Linus was sprawled on the ground and Saul cringed to see the state of him. Didn't look like Carson had been gentle. He saw Linus' hand and he felt sick and angry and he didn't even want to think about how _Bobby _was feeling. He caught Linus' eyes. Reading terror and relief in equal measures, and he tried to look reassuring.

Everyone was alive. He clung to that.

"It's over, Carson," Bobby called, calm, cool and professional and absolutely not looking anywhere near Linus' direction. "There's no way out. You're surrounded."

"Thank God you're here!" Carson exclaimed, and he really did manage to sound relieved. "These are the men who really robbed the Bellagio. They set me up. They - "

" - it's not going to work," Bobby cut in, absolutely accurately. "Put your gun down and make things easy on yourself."

Carson's gaze was fixed on Danny. "Uh uh. I put my gun down, he'll shoot me in a heartbeat."

Danny's eyes were blank. He hadn't reacted to anything that had happened. Didn't seem to be aware of anything other than Carson. Saul shivered; Carson was probably right. And even though they had a number of guns trained on Carson, no one could take the shot without risking Danny. Which Bobby would never do.

"That's Agent Devlin, right?" muttered one of the FBI agents from behind him.

Bobby hesitated. "Danny?" he said cautiously. "You want to put your gun down?"

"No," Danny said simply and his voice sounded far away.

* * *

Danny stared at Carson. Everything was complicated. Jumbled up. He couldn't _think._ All he knew was that he was guilty as hell and so was Carson.

"Danny?" Carson said softly. "How about you and I go for a little drive. Get away from all these people. Make sure you don't wind up hurting any more of the people you care about. Make sure you don't ruin any more lives."

He considered it. It was the best way out he could see.

"_No, _Danny. That's not going to happen." Rusty sounded more confident, more determined than Danny had heard him in a very long time, and suddenly Rusty was standing in front of him and Danny was still staring at Carson but Rusty was forcing him to be aware of him, presence and pain, fear and determination, love and stubbornness.

* * *

Danny wasn't looking at him. But it was taking more of an effort than it had before, Rusty could tell. He took another couple of steps forwards, ignoring Bobby calling his name anxiously, ignoring Linus scrambling backwards to safety, ignoring the fact that he was now turning his back on Carson and Carson's gun. Danny was all that mattered here and he ignored the audience. "You made me a promise last night, Danny. You gonna break it this quick? You gonna break it like this?" He concentrated on all the things he wasn't saying. He needed Danny. He wouldn't live without Danny. Danny had _promised _him they'd be together. Danny had promised him a future. Danny had promised that he loved him.

He watched Danny flinch and he knew all about the pain he was causing. "You said you didn't want me to be alone, Danny," he added softly.

"Awww," Carson crooned behind him. "That's sweet, isn't it, Danny? But come on. Really. At this stage, you've broken so many promises, what does one more matter? And Robert's so fucked up anyway. You really think you can help? You really think he's worth it?"

He didn't bother looking round, and there was something liberating in the annoyance and contempt he heard in his own voice. "Seriously, Harry, you really think you're helping here? You _looking _to get shot or something? You got the self-preservation instincts of a lemming on acid, you know that?"

He was watching, of course, and Danny blinked a little and his lips actually twitched. He was listening now.

"I want you safe, Rus'" Danny explained quietly.

And safe, right now, for whatever reason – and he put the memories of the photos firmly out of his mind - meant Carson being dead. "I need _you," _he said firmly. Danny. Alive and not in prison. That was what mattered. He stepped a little closer, put himself between Carson and Danny and he could hear Bobby swearing and Danny was actually having to look over his shoulder to see Carson. "Give me the gun."

Danny hesitated. "I want him _dead_, Rusty," he said helplessly.

"I know," Rusty murmured soothingly, and he did. He closed his eyes for a moment and then told the truth. "Danny? Right now you're pointing a gun at me."

* * *

He looked down. The gun was pointed at...he was aiming a gun at...he was about to shoot...He cried out and in a second, Rusty had taken the gun away, and then Rusty's arms were tight around him, and _this _was what he wanted, this was what they needed. Carson was nothing.

There was a pained yell, and when Rusty let go, when they turned round and looked, Carson was on the ground with three FBI agents kneeling on his back, snapping handcuffs round his wrists.

Everything was all right.

* * *

Bobby practically sagged with relief, watching his men handcuff Carson. Thank God. It was over.

Quickly, he walked over to Linus. "You alright, son?" he asked, trying to keep his tone no more concerned than he would be for any crime victim. But he could see the bruise on Linus' face where that bastard had hit him, and he could see the way Linus was cradling his hand against his chest, and he anxiously looked closer and he saw the way two of Linus' fingers were purple and swollen and unnaturally bent. Carson had done that and for a moment he was deep in the grip of unmanageable, unmatchable fury.

Linus reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "Hey. I'm fine. Sir." Bobby swallowed at the deliberate reminder that he wasn't supposed to know Linus, that he wasn't supposed to feel _anything _for Linus. And Linus' voice had been completely steady and his eyes were clear and worried. Bobby wondered if it was possible for a man to actually die of pride.

He squeezed Linus' shoulder gently and turned to Saul. "Can you get him to a hospital?" he asked and on one level it was a harassed FBI agent trying to tie up unwelcome loose ends, and on another level it was a frantic father, begging his friend to take care of his son. To Saul's credit he only hesitated briefly, glancing over to where Danny and Rusty were standing together, seemingly oblivious of the rest of the world, before acknowledging necessity, placing an arm over Linus' shoulders and gently leading him away. And that was good. The faster he got Saul and Linus out of here, the more likely it was that none of his fellow agents would think to question their presence.

He wished he could do the same for Danny and Rusty.

Carson was right in the middle of shooting his mouth off. "...Listen to me. They're the bad guys here. They're the ones who robbed Benedict. And Robert there is breaking his parole. I've got - "

" - take him upstairs," Bobby said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to punch and keep punching with an effort. Let the boys from the Office of Professional Responsibility take him. Just as long as he was far away from the people Bobby cared about, he didn't care that much.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Carson was dragged away. That was, until he realised Mike Torrance was frowning at him. "Why do you think he was saying that?" he asked carefully.

Bobby shrugged and looked unconcerned. "Guy's just trying to get us off our guard. _Again_."

Mike didn't look convinced. "Yeah, but I mean, I don't understand - "

" - okay," Bobby interrupted, smiling wearily. "Easy enough to check out. Tony!" Tony looked round sharply and Bobby nodded over at Rusty. "Take him downtown and check him out, will you?" Tony nodded and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Bobby watched Mike out of the corner of his eye. He looked appeased. As long as something was being done, he wouldn't think any more of it. Bobby had chosen his team for this one _carefully. _

Now, all he needed to do was make sure there were no suspicions, get all the right evidence in all the right places, and get to Linus as quickly as possible.

* * *

The man stepped towards him with the handcuffs and Rusty felt like someone had just pulled the world out from under his feet just when he'd finally found a shred of solid ground. Bobby couldn't be thinking about letting him go back to jail. (_Bobby couldn't be thinking about...anything else.) _Except. He was responsible for Linus getting hurt. Maybe Bobby had decided to wash his hands of him. Abandon him to his fate. Maybe he just didn't have a choice.

His eyes were fixed on the handcuffs. No. No, no,no, no, no, no. This wasn't right. He didn't want this. He couldn't _take _this. His vision blurred a little and it was Carson holding the cuffs, smiling at him, Moffatt, Jones, whoever, anyone. His body knew what was coming. _He _knew what was coming.

* * *

Rusty had tensed up beside him, a sudden shock of agony and terror, and then Danny could see the blankness and the elsewhere just in the way he was standing. Handcuffs. He thought about Carson and this time he managed to choke back his fury.

"It's okay," he whispered, just before Tony reached them. "Trust Bobby."

He only caught the very edges of the look. Hell, the look was only _there _for a fraction of a second. Didn't mean it didn't hurt. "Trust _me _then," he said instead. I know Tony." He was a friend of Bobby's. Linus had introduced them three months ago, he'd had a part in a thing they'd pulled in Chicago. He was good at looking official and good at following orders, and Danny could see why Bobby had brought him. Bobby was nothing if not careful. "He's with us," he promised.

Rusty looked round at him quickly and Danny froze at the look of uncertainty, and then Rusty nodded jerkily, misery and acceptance, and when Tony cleared his throat Rusty turned round obediently and stuck his hands out behind him.

Tony was the one who hesitated, staring down at Rusty's hands, visibly disturbed. No, not his hands. His wrists. Wrist. Danny bit his lip and _looked, _and he remembered Carson's gleeful voice, telling him how Rusty had tried to tear his hand off. Looked like he'd made a good attempt at it. _Handcuffs_...

Again, he pushed the fury away and he kept eye contact with Rusty, even as Tony snapped the cuffs on, promising all the things that Rusty had reminded him of, all the eternal and the unconditional that Rusty had forced him to confront and that had dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of ice and darkness and desperate, murderous need.

"Come on. We're going upstairs," said Tony authoritatively.

Danny smiled carelessly at him and walked, hardly looking where he was going, all his concentration on Rusty beside him, silent and struggling and only just managing to stay in the real world, and the wordless, one-sided conversation.

_You're not alone. We're together. We're together and no one is going to hurt you. I won't let them. Not ever again. Just stay with me and you're not alone._

_I love you._

_I love you so much._

* * *

It was difficult to think of anything but the handcuffs. Difficult to feel anything but trapped and restrained and vulnerable and helpless. Difficult to see the real details of the world when shadows and agonising, visceral memories were looming malevolently at the corners of his vision, threatening to drag him down and never let him go.

Other times. Over times. Didn't mean that they didn't have power. Didn't meant that memories - of his hands being forced behind his back, of waking up unable to move, of the bite of metal and the promise of pain - didn't mean that all of that wasn't stronger, more vivid than the real world.

(_Except)_

Except there was Danny. Walking beside him. A single light in overwhelming, sickening darkness. He was constantly aware of Danny and just that awareness was enough to keep him from falling. And he heard every word that Danny didn't say.

He didn't know how much time passed, blind to everything but the precarious balance between Danny and pain.

The cuffs were taken off. He blinked round at the deserted street, surprised somehow.

"Thanks, Tony," Danny said easily. "Tell Bobby we'll see him at Reuben's, okay?"

"Sure thing, Danny," Tony agreed obediently , and then he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

Rusty sighed and relaxed a little, and then Danny stepped closer to him and reached out a hand in some timeless gesture of comfort, and he flinched away in spite of himself.

A feeling of shame swept over him. He wasn't supposed to react that way. Not to Danny. Determined, he glanced up, determined to offer apologies, only to see the same apology reflected in Danny's eyes.

He smiled, unwillingly, and Danny nodded, and the incident was swept aside. They couldn't forget it, but at least they could pretend it hadn't happened.

He leaned back against the cool stone wall and closed his eyes for a moment.

* * *

Danny watched Rusty carefully. They were both tired. Both hanging on by a thread.

"You alright?" he asked, and at exactly the same moment Rusty's eyes opened and he leaned forwards and asked exactly the same question.

He grinned, and Rusty laughed a little, shaking his head ruefully. "I'm not alright," he admitted quietly.

"Me either," Danny nodded.

They weren't. Not nearly. And there was something reassuring about admitting it. The smile was painful. But it was there. And it was shared.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, and there were so many ways of taking that question, and really, he was relieved when Rusty chose the easiest one.

"He came in while me and Linus were searching the office." Rusty hesitated, his hand brushing across his mouth. "It was my...We were done. But I said we had to stay. I was looking for - "

" - the file," Danny finished in understanding.

"Yeah." Rusty nodded rapidly. "You saw," he said, and his gaze was fixed on the ground, and Danny knew that Rusty had _never _wanted him to see that. Had never wanted him to know the details, and there was unbearable shame just in the knowledge that Danny _knew. _

"I saw," he agreed and his voice was soft and nothing was _ever _going to change the way he felt. "I went a little crazy." There was a part of him that would always wish that he'd just pulled the trigger the moment he saw Carson.

Rusty snorted. "Yeah."

"What?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Next time you got the urge to kill someone, you might want to come up with a better opening line than 'Hi'," Rusty suggested dryly, and it wasn't funny, none of it was even remotely funny, but he couldn't help laughing.

"He hurt you," he said eventually, looking at the dried blood round Rusty's mouth.

Rusty shrugged. "He hurt Linus more," he said, and there was concern and regret there, and Danny was worried about Linus too, but it didn't change the point.

For the first time he saw the dark shadows on Rusty's throat. Where someone – where Carson – had tried to strangle him. Not the first time. The photos were in his mind again – like they'd ever left – and the image of then-Rusty merged with the Rusty standing in front of him. Vulnerable and hurting. He swallowed hard.

Rusty rubbed at the bruises. "Some guys like it," he said quietly.

Again he saw the shadowed-man, his hands round Rusty's throat, squeezing, choking, forcing, hurting. Hurting and getting off on it. The rage shuddered through him and it wasn't what was important. "Oh, _Rus'," _he breathed quietly, alive with horror and the ache of absolute, helpless misery.

"'S'okay," Rusty told him.

"It's _not," _he said sharply.

"I know," Rusty said quietly.

His gaze drifted down, and he was staring at Rusty's shoulder, wondering, and it wasn't quite real.

Rusty met his eyes and silently unfastened a couple of buttons on his shirt and pulled the collar aside. The scar was there. The silvered impression of teethmarks. Deep and ugly and permanent. Representing everything that had happened when he wasn't there. Everything that had happened when he didn't care. Everything that was his fault. He choked back a sob. "_Rus'..._I'm sorry. I should've...I'm so sorry."

In an instant Rusty had stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around Danny tightly. "Shush," he murmured roughly and "It's not your fault," and then, "You're _here," _and he _was_. _They_ were. Without even thinking about it, he held Rusty close and in the wonder of the embrace, everything else fell away. This was all that mattered. This was all he wanted.

* * *

He stood safe in Danny's arms, holding on to Danny, and he never wanted to let go.

"What happens now?" he asked quietly.

Danny kissed his hair and it didn't hurt a bit. "Now we live," he promised tenderly.


	36. Epilogue

**Well, we've come to the epilogue. Though there is a continuation of this story called 'Steps, Forwards and Back' which is already posted. You can find it on my profile.  
**

**Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who's read this and everyone who's reviewed, and most of all, I'd like to thank InSilva who is a lot more wonderful than anyone can imagine. ;)  
**

* * *

A reluctant step back. "We should go."

"Yeah." Holding his hand tightly. Not wanting to let go. _Never _wanting to let go.

* * *

Stay where you are, Saul had told him. Keep the others there. Sure. Yeah. Like it was that easy. Reuben hated waiting and he hated worrying even more. Hated having reasons to worry. How the hell had this happened, that's what he wanted to know. It had been maybe an hour between Danny's phonecall and Saul phoning to tell them that everyone was safe at least. That Carson was back in custody. That Linus was hurt and Saul was taking him to the hospital. That the boys were fine and together and with Bobby.

Even at that news there wasn't much celebrating. Too much worrying about exactly what the hell 'fine' was supposed to mean. Too much worrying about Linus, despite Saul's repeated assurances that he'd be fine – assurances that Reuben had to figure were at least as much for Linus' ears as the lot of them gathered round the speaker phone. Too much worrying – wondering – about _how the hell had this happened? _

Still, it was better than the hour immediately before. He'd spent the time telling Frank and the twins to sit down and shut up. Getting impromptu lessons in exotic Chinese vocabulary. Agreeing with Basher that there were a great many things that were just too good for Carson. Listening to Livingston explaining for the hundred and sixteenth time that there were no cameras in the parking lot, and no, there was actually _nothing _he could do about it, and yes, he _did _think it was a really stupid idea but unfortunately he hadn't designed the system. Pleading with everyone to sit tight and wait.

Wasn't good. And they were still waiting now.

Until Danny and Rusty walked through the door. Then it was overwhelming relief and relentless questions.

He studied them anxiously. Danny looked okay. Physically, anyway. Other ways he looked exhausted. Rusty had a few more bruises. Bad enough that Reuben couldn't help but wonder if Bobby would consider holding some visiting hours for Carson. But they were doing a good job of looking confident. Undefeated. Together. And the only way the tension was obvious was in the fact that if they were standing any closer together they'd be holding hands.

The questions flew thick and fast and anxious. Oddly, Reuben thought it was probably good for them. Meant they could pick and choose what they said and no one noticed. And if a few gaping holes got left in the shuffle, well, that was kind of inevitable.

As long as they were safe, as long as they were happy – he could live without the truth.

* * *

His hand was numb and Linus was slowly coming to the conclusion that drugs were good.

He didn't know _what _Saul had said to the hospital staff but he seemed to be getting seen and treated in record time. Only reason they were having to wait around now was that x-rays apparently took time to develop no matter _how _persuasive you were.

Saul hadn't left his side. And Linus had patiently explained more than once that he was twenty-three and really didn't need a babysitter. Saul had looked at him and he'd shut up pretty quickly. Not that it had stopped him from trying again. He could be really persistent when he wanted to be.

Saul had made four phone calls. First to Dad to tell him they had reached the hospital. Then to Reuben to tell him that everything was okay. Then to Dad _again _to say that everything was going well and that the doctors seemed completely confident that Linus was going to be fine.

Which they were. Clean fractures. Uncomplicated. Apparently Carson was good at breaking fingers. Linus thought again of the moment and the look in Carson's eyes, glee and fascination and sharp joy, and the _pain _and he felt sick.

He'd screamed. Last night Carson had seemed to think that Rusty wouldn't. He wondered what that made him.

The fourth call was to Danny. There was no answer and Saul left a brief message. Just saying that Linus was going to be okay and asking them to go to Reuben's.

Linus looked at Saul sideways as he hung up the phone. "Do you think Danny's going to be okay?"

"Yes," Saul said after a brief pause. He didn't elaborate.

Linus nodded. It had been frightening. _Danny _had been frightening. And he tried not to think about the moment when he'd had to wonder whether his life mattered to Danny at all. Those wounds were deep and barely scabbed over. It had mattered. In the end, it had mattered, and that was all that counted.

"Do you think that Rusty's going to be all right?" he asked eventually, even more hesitantly.

Saul didn't answer him for a long moment. "Yes," he said again, finally, and his voice was soft and full of confidence. It sounded more like a vow than an answer.

"I still don't understand everything that happened," he admitted quietly. He got that Danny had seen something he wasn't supposed to. The same something that Rusty had been looking for so frantically. Some file. Something that was bad enough that it sent Danny so far out of his mind that murder in cold blood seemed sensible and reasonable. And though he had no real idea exactly what was in it, Carson's words and his own imagination had thrown up plenty of sickening suggestions.

"Good," Saul told him absently. "Don't try to figure it out."

He nodded. He didn't think he'd ever be able to stop himself from speculating, didn't think that he'd be able to keep his mind from dreaming up countless horror. But he got that details were personal and private and absolutely guarded. And he was _never _going to ask questions.

Saul was looking at him, a slight smile gracing his face. "You did well today, Linus. You're a good man. Bobby's right to be proud."

He could feel himself visibly flush with pleasure, and he didn't mind a bit.

* * *

It took a while before everyone settled down. Lots of questions. All the guys pressing in on them, wanting to shake hands, clap them on the shoulders, reassure themselves that everything was okay. And Rusty had been expecting that, had done his best to mentally prepare for that. But it wasn't as bad as it could have been. _Danny _was the recipient of Frank's enthusiastic pat on the back, the twins' friendly punches, Basher's arm slung casually over his shoulders. Everyone was careful with Rusty. Careful he saw them coming. Careful about sudden movements. Careful not to make a big deal out of it. And he was certain they hadn't discussed it before.

He caught Danny's eye. Yeah, Danny had noticed it too and returned the invisible smile and the affectionate amusement. They had good friends.

Eventually, when they'd said everything they were willing to more than once, the friendly interrogation broke up and the actual job became the focus of conversation. Yen complained bitterly about the delay in the vault and Danny explained about Linus stealing the detonator and Rusty thought he'd never stop laughing. Danny looked at him and smiled like that was the point. Turk sounded disappointed about the destruction of the SWAT uniforms. Apparently he thought they'd be good for picking up women. Frank gave a spirited and affectionate impression of Sheldon Willis and a rather less affectionate imitation of Terry Benedict. Livingston asked Rusty curiously about exactly _what _he'd said to Terry on the phone.

Time passed and everyone was having a good time, and the only tension was in waiting for Saul and Linus. And no matter how often Reuben repeated Saul's reassurances, he was worrying. Danny was worrying. Everyone was worrying. No one wanted anyone else hurt.

But for the rest...he and Danny put on a good act. Relaxed and laughing and absolutely and unquestionably in control. An evening spent among triumphant friends, and thoughts of death and murder couldn't touch them. Good thing they were natural liars.

It was an hour or so later that Linus and Saul finally arrived back and the feeling of relief was immediate and Linus looked stunned and Saul looked amused at the sheer jubilation they were greeted with.

He and Danny hung back. Certainly everything _he _wanted to say wasn't for public ears. He studied Linus anxiously. The kid looked okay. Pale and maybe a little doped up, and his hand was well wrapped. But okay. It took him a moment to realise that Saul was looking anxiously at _him _and he managed to meet Saul's eyes, managed to offer a reassuring nod.

Linus was looking flustered in the face of anxious interrogation, trying to answer ten questions at once.

"No it doesn't hurt that much...well, I mean, it _did..._they just taped it up...I gotta keep the splint on for five weeks...really doesn't hurt...look, it's not a cast so you can't sign it...yeah, Carson didn't like me trying to escape I guess...I punched him though..._yes_, really...maybe it hurts a little...seriously, you can't write on it!"

Rusty caught Danny grinning at him. The twins were persistent. But Linus seemed okay and he breathed a sigh of relief. Still, he needed to talk. Apologise. Because it was his fault that they'd been caught. His fault that Linus had been hurt. And he hoped Linus would forgive him.

Danny was looking at Linus too. And it didn't matter that no one else would ever know, Rusty could see the tension and the hesitation and the regret and the nervousness.

"You too, huh," he said quietly.

Danny smiled tightly. "Yeah. Need to - "

" - right," Rusty nodded sympathetically. He got it.

"And you need to talk to Saul," Danny told him quietly.

Rusty nodded. "Yeah." He did. He had no doubt that Saul had been terrified for him tonight.

But Danny was still looking at him, compassion and understanding and apology in his eyes. "You need to talk to Saul," he said again, as if he was willing Rusty to get it.

And Rusty didn't. But his mouth was suddenly dry. "Why?"

Danny looked regretful. "He was with me when - "

"No!" he exclaimed, a little too loud, a little too anguished and Frank turned round and looked at them, concern all over his face, and they smiled until he looked away again. "He saw...the photos...he saw _me."_

A slow nod. "I'm sorry."

Rusty bit his lip as hard as he could and looked at the floor, trying to master the crushing wave of shame and nausea and self-loathing. Saul had seen him like _that._ Had seen him humiliated, seen what he'd let Felding do to him. And Danny had seen too...it was easier when it was just Carson. That was only unbearable. This was so much worse.

It hurt. Thinking about it hurt, and he could feel Felding's hands on him, inside him, and he wanted to hurt himself, wanted to punch himself again and again, wanted to tear and claw at his skin until there was nothing left of him. Carefully he clasped his hands together.

"Hey," Danny said softly. "It's all right."

He shook his head quickly. "I don't want to talk to him."

Danny sighed and looked away briefly. "Look. Honestly? I think you should. But if you can't – even if you just don't want to – well, the patio doors are right there. We walk out, walk past the pool, two minutes and we're gone before anyone even realises."

It was tempting. Right up until the moment when he imagined how Saul would react. What Saul would think. "Couldn't."

"I know," Danny said sympathetically, and he didn't look surprised. "He'll never think any less of you. You know that."

"Yeah," he said, and he knew he should be convinced.

There was no answer and he blinked and looked over. Danny was frozen. Staring inwards. Some moment of realisation and Rusty didn't know what it was.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Saul was with me when I was reading the file," Danny said in a hushed voice. "And I just walked out and left the file there. And...I don't know if..._anyone _could have read it."

Oh. He knew that should bother him. But really, what could be worse than Danny seeing? Than Saul seeing? Than Carson? He already felt like public property. "'S'okay," he said, and his voice sounded a little dead in his ears. "Nothing we can do about it now. You were thinking about other things. Not like the prison doesn't still have copies." He'd never know where all of them were. His degradation was a matter of public record and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Rus'," Danny said, soft and troubled and pained.

He managed to smile, and then he saw Saul coming towards them. He should...he should...he _couldn't. "_Gotta go talk to Linus," he said abruptly, and he vanished as quickly as possible.

* * *

Linus was feeling strangely warm inside. Seemed like everyone had been worried about him. And he didn't _want _to make them worry, but it was gratifying that they _had. _He felt accepted.

He was standing just a little way apart, listening to Basher tell an inexplicable joke. Something about Liverpool soccer fans and bikes. Judging by the frown on Reuben's face, he wasn't the only one who was completely baffled.

He was surprised and a little apprehensive when Rusty edged up to him. "You mind if we talk?" Rusty asked quietly, and he nodded and they moved further away, where no one could hear.

"You're really okay?" Rusty asked, staring at Linus' hand.

"Yes," Linus assured him quietly, and he hesitated, staring at the bruises on Rusty's face, on his neck. "Are...are you?"

Rusty rubbed absently at his throat. "Yeah. It's nothing" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Linus."

"Why?" he asked stupidly.

"It was my fault," Rusty told him quietly. "If I hadn't insisted that we stay to look, Carson would never have caught us. You even told me that we should leave and I didn't listen. I'm so sorry."

He didn't know exactly what to say. "_No_...I mean, yes, but..." He bit his lip. "It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you."

He didn't have to try to sound sincere but Rusty didn't seem to be hearing him. "And you had to come back for me."

Linus remembered seeing Carson straddling Rusty. Remembered seeing his _hands._ Remembered the blank, dead look on Rusty's face. "I _had _to," he agreed. "You'd have done the same thing. And I only got away because of you, anyway. If it'd been up to me, we'd have ended up in that car with Carson and who knows where we'd be right now?" He shuddered slightly at the very thought. It had been close. It had been too close. "I should be thanking you." He thought about that a little more. "I _am_ thanking you."

Rusty looked at him with a mixture of amusement and confusion. "I'm still sorry."

"Really, it's okay, Rusty," he said, meaning it. He had to make Rusty see that. "It's - "

There was the noise of the door opening and Reuben led Dad inside. He was looking round the room urgently, and there was absolutely no doubt who he was looking for. Linus sighed, relief releasing a tension that he didn't even know he'd been feeling.

Rusty smiled at him and patted him on the arm as Dad headed towards them. "I'll see you later."

* * *

He had to walk by Bobby. And in a very real way, he didn't want to. Just because Linus didn't blame him didn't mean that Bobby wouldn't. It was easier to forgive someone for hurting you than for hurting the people you loved. He knew that.

But when he drew level with Bobby, the look that came his way was all anxious concern and friendly worry. No blame. No recriminations. No anger.

He swallowed hard and smiled reassuringly and hurried back to Danny.

* * *

Danny stood leaning against the wall, holding a bottle of beer, more for something to do with his hands than anything else. From where he was standing he could see Rusty and Linus. And that was the main thing. He sure as hell wasn't letting Rusty out of his sight anytime soon.

Saul walked up and stood next to him. "Daniel," he said, and Danny wondered how he could put so much meaning into Danny's name. It was concern and love and rebuke and understanding, all at once.

"Seemed like I had to," he said and it almost sounded like an apology. But it wasn't.

Saul nodded, his eyes dark and far away, and after all, he'd seen the same things Danny had.

Which was the point. Because even if Rusty was able to act like he didn't care – and Danny found it easier to believe it was a lie than to believe the grey, dead acceptance was real – it still mattered to Danny. The urge to protect was still paramount. "Saul, the file, I - "

" - it's gone," Saul said, and for a moment his face was twisted with grief and memory. "I burnt it. No one will _ever _see it."

He closed his eyes. "Good," he said.

There was a pause. "You shouldn't have gone after Carson," Saul said presently "But when I think of those animals..." He took a deep breath. "I wish I knew who."

The list was heavy in Danny's pocket. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Me too."

He watched Rusty for a while, talking to Linus, and he could see the unconscious, fear-driven hyper-awareness. Rusty was never relaxed now. Rusty never felt safe now.

His thumb brushed against paper. Against names. Some day.

* * *

Linus let Dad lead him off to a small sitting room in silence. He sat on the piano stool and watched Dad pace and he'd never seen Dad look this agitated.

"I'm okay, Dad, really," he said quietly.

Dad nodded jerkily and walked over to him, took his injured hand – gently, very, very gently – staring at it intently. After a moment he reached up and ran his thumb over Linus' cheek. "Oh, Linus," he whispered, and his voice was shaken.

He didn't know what to say. He patted Dad's hand awkwardly. "I'm okay," he said again, and Dad suddenly hugged him close and it was almost frightening to realise how scared Dad had been. To think that Dad had thought he was going to lose him.

After a moment, Dad took a step back and cleared his throat. "What happened?" he asked. "Tell me everything."

Linus stumbled through the story from the moment Carson had caught them in his office. Through most of the story, anyway. He skipped over all mentions of the file. And what Carson had said about Rusty hurting himself, and everything Carson had said about prison. Dad frowned a little but didn't push him on the details.

When he'd finished, Dad hugged him tightly again. "I'm proud of you, son," he said thickly and Linus struggled to get control of the lump in his throat. "I'm so proud of you," Dad said again. "And if this ever happens again, you're grounded for a year."

Linus laughed in spite of himself and he was almost sure that Dad wasn't serious.

"Now," Dad went on, standing up straight. "Tell me how you dealt with Benedict?"

He smiled eagerly and launched into an account of Sheldon Willis.

* * *

Livingston looked round the non-party, slightly drunk and slightly inclined towards smiling.

The bad guys were defeated. The good guys won. They had just stolen eighty-eight million, two hundred and seventy-four thousand three hundred and twenty-nine dollars. Rusty was grinning at something Danny had just said and Danny was smiling back at him.

He watched them circulate. Being cool and convivial and amusing and attentive. Constantly looking at each other. Constantly talking in ways that no one else would ever understand. Being DannyandRusty.

He smiled to see it, sipping at his wine, and neatly stepped backwards, avoiding Yen trying to teach Virgil to do handstands and nearly bumping into Bobby.

* * *

Linus was safe and Bobby was breathing easily for the first time in hours.

That had to be the fastest handover of responsibility that the FBI had ever seen. He'd washed his hands of Carson as soon as possible and he'd made the reports on this total clusterfuck in record time.

He glanced round the room. Seemed everyone was paying attention. Good.

"The suits have the evidence. Real and fake. And they have Carson. The story is holding up. When I left, Terry Benedict was demanding that we throw the book at him."

"What's Carson saying?" Basher asked sharply.

He grimaced. "Nothing. He's being very quiet and waiting for his lawyer. I think he's holding out for a plea bargain." He recognised the symptoms.

"But they won't let him go, right? I mean, he's going to prison." Livingston sounded anxious and Bobby found himself looking past to where Danny and Rusty were standing. They looked pale at the thought.

"No," he assured them quickly. "There's too much evidence. He'll get ten years at least."

"Hope it's hell for him," Frank muttered viciously.

Bobby didn't bother agreeing out loud.

"It won't be," Rusty pointed out quietly. "FBI agent sent to prison – he'll be in protective custody the whole time. Odds on, he'll go through life without ever seeing another con."

That was what Bobby figured. But it hurt to see the look on Danny's face when Rusty said it.

"He's gone," Saul said quietly, looking at Rusty. "That's what matters."

"Right!" Turk agreed. "Eat, drink and be merry and all that."

Bobby shrugged and accepted the bottle of beer that was pushed his way.

* * *

They were on their own when Bobby approached them. Danny had been watching Rusty carefully, and at some point the party had got too much and Danny had led him away. Not that he was complaining. He just needed a break. They'd headed to the kitchen. No one would find that surprising.

Bobby walked in after a few moments and found them leaning against the counter, comfortable and saying nothing.

"Guys," he nodded.

Danny smiled, lazy and confident and absolutely-nothing-wrong. "Hi, Bobby."

"Hey, Bobby," Rusty echoed a fraction of a second later.

"Listen, have you still got that gun?" Bobby asked with a frown. "At some point I'm going to need to give it back to Andy."

Rusty blinked. Huh. He hadn't actually stopped to think about where the gun had come from. "Oh, yeah, here," he said, reaching into his pocket and carefully handing it over.

He could feel Danny staring at him. Was aware of the suddenly shocked and frozen.

"I guess it slipped my mind," he explained, as Bobby checked it, unloaded it and put it in his coat.

Danny was still staring. And the fleeting moment of desperate, miserable suspicion was painful.

He swallowed hard. "I _promised,_" he whispered fiercely, in a tone too low for Bobby to hear.

Danny's eyes apologised.

And that was okay. Some things took time.

"You going to be alright?" Bobby asked them with heavy-handed casualness.

As one they turned to face him. "Of course," they chorused in perfect unison.

* * *

Saul knew that Rusty was avoiding him. And as much as that hurt, he did understand. Danny would have told Rusty that Saul had seen the file. And he remembered Rusty lying to him. Remembered the shame that Rusty had felt when everyone had known that Carson had been hurting him. Saul having seen the evidence of the vicious and the unforgivable must be so much worse. It hurt to see Rusty so twisted up inside.

He didn't want to push and he didn't want to pry. But he couldn't let it go. Couldn't risk Rusty believing even for a moment that the knowledge of what Rusty had been through, or the fact that he'd lied, made any difference to how Saul felt about him.

It was a relief, therefore, when Rusty walked up to him. "We should talk," he said, but he didn't look at Saul and he didn't meet his eyes. With a heavy heart, Saul followed Rusty through to the next room, hurting inside at the nervousness and the tension and the way that Rusty was staring at the floor, like he'd done something wrong.

The door closed behind them. There was silence. Saul waited patiently, hoping that he was doing the right thing.

Eventually, after a very long time, Rusty looked up.

Saul smiled at him.

Smiled at him like nothing was wrong, like the pictures of Rusty, naked and brutalised were nowhere in his mind. Smiled at him like it was any other day. Smiled at him like all he was thinking about was how very proud Rusty made him, how very much he loved him. Smiled at him like seeing Rusty made him happy. As it did. As it always did.

Rusty blinked furiously and chewed at his lip. "Saul, I - " he began, and Saul could see the apologies that would follow, the explanation and excuse, the mitigation and all the assurances that it wasn't that bad, that Saul shouldn't _worry. _

He sighed and shook his head and gently reached out and ran a hand through Rusty's hair.

Rusty didn't flinch. But Saul could feel the tension. The effort not to tremble.

Instantly he pulled his hand back in automatic apology and, without a word, Rusty grabbed his hand and then stepped closer, into Saul's arms.

He held his son close until the last of the silent, shaking sobs had died away.

* * *

With an irrational feeling of unease, Danny watched Rusty disappear with Saul. It was going to be a while before he felt comfortable letting Rusty out of his sight. And he had a feeling that in this case 'a while' meant 'the rest of their life'.

Still. Rusty was with Saul. Danny shouldn't be worried. Yeah. That just wasn't happening.

He took a resolute sip of his drink and went to find Linus.

Took a couple of minutes before he was able to get the kid on his own. He smiled. "Hey, Linus. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Linus didn't look especially surprised. A little apprehensive, maybe, but not surprised. "Uh, sure, Danny." They walked away a little. Just to the edge of the patio doors. "Are you okay?" Linus asked in a hushed voice, and Danny was pretty sure that was meant to be his line. Still. He guessed Linus had seen him..._almost _at his worst. It was a valid question.

"I'm fine," he said reassuring and apologetic all at the same time. "How's the hand?"

"Kind of sore," Linus admitted. Danny nodded and felt a stab of guilt.

He took a deep breath. "Linus, I'm so sorry. With Carson, I should never have...I never meant to - "

Linus interrupted before he could spell it out. " - I'm okay, Danny. And I understand, really I do. Well, a little bit at least. You weren't yourself, I get that. I know that normally, you'd never."

"I'd _never,"_ he agreed emphatically. "But I did, and I could have gotten you killed."

"But you didn't."

Linus was staring at him fiercely and there was less hero worship in the gaze than Danny was used to. More understanding. More friendship. He felt himself smiling. He felt himself forgiven.

He nodded slowly. "What are you going to do now?" he asked quietly, hoping that Linus had some plans, that there was going to be less to feel guilty about.

Linus smiled at him knowingly. "Well, I got a few ideas. Remember when we were in Denver the other month? And there was that museum that we looked at?"

"Uh huh," Danny nodded, frowning slightly. It had looked doable, but the take wasn't worth it.

"They're having a special exhibition come by," Linus went on. "Egyptian jewellery. I want to give it a shot." He looked a little uncertain and a little apologetic. "I already asked Livingston. And Turk and Virgil. They're in."

The smile grew a little. "Sounds good," he approved. Linus getting ahead in life. He liked that.

Linus sighed slightly. "I need to go home first," he added. "Dad said Mom wants to see me. Think he's feeling a little protective."

"Uh huh," Danny nodded carefully. He imagined that Linus might find it just a little difficult to escape from his more-than-slightly freaked out parents. At least for a couple of weeks.

"But we'll work together again, right?" Linus asked him anxiously. "I mean when you're...when Rusty's..." He flushed slightly and gave up quickly. "Later, I'll get to work with both of you again?"

"Oh, you can count on it," Danny told him levelly and Linus blushed for a different reason.

"Hey! You're not drinking!" Turk crowed, stumbling up and pressing a bottle into Linus' hand. Virgil came trailing after him, arguing with Yen, and before Danny could blink, they were surrounded by everyone.

He reached out and pulled the bottle out of Linus' hands. "Not with painkillers," he said firmly.

Linus blinked up at him. "One drink can't hurt," he said, and his eyes were wide and his bottom lip was trembling ever so slightly. It was a masterly performance.

Danny smiled. "I'm immune," he pointed out smugly. He'd had a lot of practice after all. Reuben snorted disbelievingly in the background.

"Fine," Linus sighed. He frowned up at Danny. "What are your plans, anyway? Where are you going?"

Danny looked over at Rusty, standing on the edge of the crowd, Saul's hand resting gently on his shoulder. "Nowhere in particular," he said with a smile.

Rusty smiled back. "Nowhere in particular. I always wanted to go there."

* * *

**Last two lines are quotes from 'Blazing Saddles'. Just to acknowledge.**

**And this really is the end! Well. Sort of. There is going to be a sequel set during O12. And there already is the first chapter of a continuation. 'Steps, Forwards and Back' Rated 'M' for reasons so you might need to check my profile to find it. It's not a sequel, more of an extended epilogue. And yes, it's rated 'M'. Despite the fact that the original fic wasn't. This is new and puzzling. Anyway, it focuses very, very nearly exclusively on Danny and Rusty and will cover the time between 'Falling like dominoes' and the yet to be named, written, or indeed started, sequel. **

**And finally finally, if you've read this fic and enjoyed it - or not - I really would appreciate you taking a moment to tell me about it. Thank you.**


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